Amanda's Story
by Siskiyou
Summary: Shan'hal'lak: in his language, the Engulfment. In Federation Standard, it translates badly to love at first sight. Through the fleeting and accidental touch of the young daughter of Admiral Grayson, Sarek finds his One. How does Sarek proceed? Will Amanda accept the logic of his choice?
1. Ch 1 Moved from Grandfather's House

Amanda's Story Begins

A/N: Where there's a campfire, there must be a story. We're still at the campfire at Admiral Greyson's house, near Seattle.

A/N 2: This story began as backstory in Grandfather's House and grew out of control. It needed to have a life of it's own, thus it is finding its way as a separate story. This is going to mean re-writing as I go, because of the tie-ins. Please let me know if something doesn't make sense or I miss an inconsistency.

So, for new readers, In the Grandfather's House story, Spock is guess where-at his human Grandfather's house near Seattle. His father and human relatives are there (Grandfather Robert, Robert's sister Grace, cousins Chris and Rob), along with some young refuges, a pair of Healers, Sarek, Sarek's clerk from the Embassy, Uhura, Kirk and McCoy. Spock's immediate family, including Uhura have gathered around the fire on a warm evening to reminisce. In the timeline of this story, they've only been back from the destruction of Vulcan for a few weeks, so the shock is still very fresh. This story originally followed Chapter 65 of Grandfather's House, for lead in, if you want to find out what went on prior.

Grace's POV (Spock's Great-Aunt)

I hesitate on the ramp to the dock. Something about the way Sarek is clasping the ka'athyra to his chest, the way my brother leans toward him, frightens me. I hurry forward.

"Robert…?" I put my hand on my brother's arm, worried for Sarek.

"_Return to the fire, Sarek." _My brother levelly commands in Shi'Khari Vulcanir. "_You do not have the right."_

After a moment, Sarek's shoulders fall just slightly and his head bows. "_Indeed."_

Expressionlessly, he turns and slowly walks off the dock and toward the fire.

"What was that about?"

Robert looks away. "He's struggling, Sissy. No one's strong enough to hold all this in, not even Sarek." My brother turns to me, his face haggard. "He admitted he was close to destroying the ka'athyra."

My breath catches in my throat. "No…" I swallow in fear, knowing how easily it could happen: crushed in his hands or simply dropped into the cold salt water of the cove.

Robert picks up the instrument's case and we hurry after Sarek, catching up with him as reaches the fire.

At Sarek's approach Spock and Nyota's hands abruptly part and fall to their laps. Spock starts to rise, but Sarek all but shoves the ka'athyra into his son's hands.

"Take this before I do something regrettable."

Thrown off-balance, Spock awkwardly sits back down.

"_Sa-mehk?"_ Spock asks, surprised, cradling the precious lyre.

I block Sarek's way, unwilling to let him leave, to be alone in his despair. "Take a seat. Sit with us by the fire." I gesture to an empty fireside chair.

Sarek glares, and for just a fraction of a second I'm scorched by his ire and reminded just why Vulcan's must keep their control. Before I can even react, he is apologizing.

"Grace, forgive me. I am not myself."

"Stay. Please."

My grandson Chris stands and joins me. "Yes, Uncle. Stay with us."

Sarek glances toward the house, and perhaps because the Healers are with the children there, putting them to bed, he concedes and sits.

Warily, Chris and I sit, too, and an uneasy silence falls. Off by the trees Captain Kirk is speaking into his communicator, his low urgent voice a counterpoint to the quiet drone of the crickets and the distant drumming and laughter at the neighbor's house.

Spock adjusts the ka'athyra on his lap, and begins to quietly tune the instrument. Robert leaves the ka'athyra case by Spock's side, then pulls another chair to the fire and sits beside Sarek.

We are a sorry circle around this fire, long faces all as we stare into the fire: Spock and Nyota to my right; Sarek and Robert to my left; Chris and Robbie across the fire from me. Doctor McCoy and T'Zel must still be with the Healers in the house.

Sarek bends slightly forward, his strong hands sliding along his thighs to grip his knees. I can almost feel his expressionless fight to control, control. He has left the dock but he is still adrift in darkness.

I stretch, putting my hands behind my head to relieve the tension in my neck. Twenty years ago he saved my life, fighting for me to be treated at Vulcan's most advanced burn center. I owe Sarek my life for that. I stretch the remnant of my burned hand out, letting it remind me to be grateful; not a fool, but grateful for life, for what remains. Vulcan logic retained for me these three useful scarred fingers over a limited but pretty artificial hand. I sigh: kaiidth. Nyota looks up at my sigh and innocently stares at my hand before she gives a guilty start. I give her a nod of reassurance: I understand her revulsion.

Sarek's hands have tightened on his knees, the knuckles going white with tension. I recite his Vulcan losses to myself: his elderly parents, his brother, his fully Vulcan son Sybok, his extended family and peers, and the community his family has participated in governing for over two millennia. All lost: gone in minutes, according to Spock.

The destruction of Vulcan would have to seem so unreal to the survivors, except that no people are more grounded in the struggle to live in objective reality than Vulcans: 'kaiidth'. What is, is; not laissez faire, but a Vulcan willful, radical acceptance of reality. But what…will sustain Sarek, and all the survivors…in the face of this level of cultural obliteration?

The human answer is love, and it is not _their_ answer. But I have nothing else more powerful to offer.

I lean back, remembering. I take a slow, deep breath and begin. "I remember how Amanda and the boys would play right here on the lawn."

The fire crackles in the silence and everyone around the fire turns to stare at me: some in surprise, some mortified. But I dare to begin her story.

"She was only fourteen when she first met Sarek here."

My brother, Robert drops his head into his hands.

"Oh, lord, Gracy. Really?" My brother protests. I know it's hard for him to talk about his daughter, the second adult child he's lost: first Robbie's father, now Amanda.

But Spock lowers the ka'athyra, interested. "Indeed. Here?"

"A meeting with the Arrrignar Ambassador, wasn't it? Very hush-hush?" I continue.

"Yes." Sarek confirms. "A highly confidential meeting was planned."

Robert sighs and leans back. "Turned out the poor bastard had been murdered. That's why he never showed up. Evidently there was a leak."

"Badminton." Spock says suddenly.

"_What?_" Nyota stares at him like he's lost his mind.

Spock studies his father, and for a moment chews on his lip. "She said you played badminton with her the first time you met. I believed it was her way of telling me to 'mind my own business.' "

Sarek's eyes close, and after a moment his hands relax. He leans back, folding his hands into his lap, and shaking his head slightly. "No. It was the truth." When he opens his eyes, his gaze goes directly to his son. "That alone should have provided ample warning as to her formidable powers of influence."

His eyes close again with a slight shake of his head. I wonder if Sarek is recalling her as a carefree girl, athletic, brown hair flying, laughing and lobbing shuttlecocks across the lawn.


	2. Ch 2 Amanda's Story: Fourteen

The Grayson Household

Forty Years Earlier

Around the Campfire, Grace telling the tale, but from Amanda's (14-year-old) POV

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, I love you so much!" I squeal, hugging my Dad and he pushes me away in exasperation.

"Baby, you may think the Junior Ambassador is a teen idol-rock star or something, but he's coming here for _business._ Not to be bothered by you, do you understand?"

I practically BOUNCE up the stairs to call Nancy on my iComm to give her the news. I'm giving her all the luscious details when Mom comes in and makes me get off the call. I roll onto my back, exasperated.

"Homework." She orders.

"Oh, mom…" I'm whining and I know it, but I have to do it because it's my job and I love her!

Mom just rolls her eyes. "Could you pick someone a little less unobtainable to have a crush on than a Vulcan? Say, like that nice Randy Weissman in Friday Harbor? Your age, your species…?"

"Don't be a bigot, mom."

"Okay, okay. But the Weissmans are a nice Jewish family to boot. What's not to like?"

I blow my mom a raspberry. "So he's nice. He's a friend. Who wants that?"

"Oh. Of course. Can't have nice and obtainable. That wouldn't do. No, you want some motorcycle racing alien. Of course. The ultimate bad boy." She sits beside me, and brushes the hair away from my face. "Not that you don't come by that inclination honestly. Oy, your father…" And she smiles with this knowing look that, really, just makes me cringe_._

"Mom…it's just…he's so _cute._ All tall, dark and handsome." I sigh. Then giggle, and after a moment Mom giggles along with me and then ruffles my hair. I've been studying everything about Vulcan like crazy ever since we spent that year living in the Earth Embassy in Shi'Kahr. Language and philosophy and _everything._ It was just so amazing to live there, actually on Vulcan. I mean, outside the controlled atmosphere of the Embassy it wasn't always so great: the awful gravity, and hot and dusty, but also ancient and complex and _so_ incredibly peaceful. Nothing like earth. There's so much humans still can learn about Vulcan and Vulcans. And…and I realize my mother is staring at me.

"I'm glad living on Vulcan was a good experience for you, honey." She stands and bends over to kiss my forehead. "Maybe you'll be a professor of Vulcan Studies someday." She does the evil finger shake at me. "But first, homework. And if you can't do that I have dishes you can do."

Ugh. Mothers.

Even though the next day is a school day, there is no way I'm leaving. My parents seem to have figured this out because they don't even remind me to hurry to catch the mail boat to school.

Daddy gives me one warning over breakfast: "Not seen, not heard. Get it?"

I nod, but I think he knows I'm going to thoroughly spy on Mr. Junior Ambassador Sarek. I have been in LOVE ever since I saw him in the Tucson 3000 semi-finals. OMG, how awesome and unpredictable! I mean, you never know where some Vulcan will show up next doing something weird—like that one guy who's now a famous oceanographer. Stenn? Something like that.

I learned on Vulcan that they actually do have family names, it's just that humans can't pronounce them. Yet. Hah. _I_ will, someday.

When the Vulcan Embassy shuttle arrives, I'm spying out my bedroom window upstairs. It's kind of disappointing. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it's not ostentatious or anything—I mean, that would go against Vulcan culture, but it seems barely big enough for the three Vulcans who step out on the lawn. Some tall skinny lady with a beehive of white hair; some guy in black like a Vulcan ninja—I guess even Vulcans must have security people. And then OMG, it's him—Sarek. Mr. Junior Ambassador of cuteness.

And they wait.

And wait.

And wait. It's almost evening and everyone's been waiting since seven in the morning for the Arrrignar Ambassador to show up. I had to sneak down twice just to get something to eat! Dad's been on his secure Comm since two but no one can seem to figure out what's gone wrong.

The old lady and the security guy finally take the shuttle and go, and I think maybe I just missed Sarek leaving, too, while I was finishing off a big plate of crackers and bowl of hummus. But my Dad comes up the stairs trying to hold back this huge grin.

"Can you behave like an adult for a couple of hours? If you can, I'll introduce you to the Junior Ambassador."

I bite my lips to keep from exploding as I nod and before I even know what's happening, there I am in the living room and he is so-o-o tall and his eyes and hair are delish' dark and he has this charisma and I realize in about two seconds that he is completely and I mean _totally_ indifferent to meeting me. I feel like my heart is just falling into my shoes I am SO embarrassed like I could just die.

Whatever.

I spend dinner staring at my plate and feeling like an idiot. Dad even apologizes for me, and looks at me all disappointed like he's given me a Christmas present that I don't like. Thanks to him, my brothers start kicking me under the table and snickering until mom tells them to settle down.

Sarek's okay. He eats very little and is overly polite. I realize he was so unimportant to Ambassador Beehive Hair that she left him behind just in case the Arrringar Ambassador remembers to show up. Dad seems to understand this and is embarrassingly sympathetic.

"Amanda, here, saw you in some motorcycle race in Arizona?" Dad tries to start a conversation up between us, and I could just kill him. I give him the evil eye.

"Indeed?"

"Yeah."

"I found the experience satisfactory."

"Thrill a minute, I'm sure."

He blinks and now mom gives me the evil eye. "Is there anything else I can get you, Ambassador?" She placates.

"Your cuisine was both vegetarian and kosher, was it not?"

Mom blushes, pleased. "You noticed."

I don't know if it's cool or creepy that he's done that much homework on us.

"Indeed. Dinner was satisfactory. I regret any inconvenience I may have caused."

I catch a flash of his discomfort and suddenly I realize he's a real person. I mean, I know he's real but I mean _real _and not just this idea I had of who he was. I swallow and feel stupid all over again.

Fortunately Dad seems to have plenty to talk about and I manage to sneak off with R Junior and Big Bro. We decide to knock some shuttlecocks around the front yard. I've almost gotten over my stupid crush when Dad comes out on the porch with Ambassador Sarek and I realize I'm staring.

He's not cute. He's handsome, and attractive in a way that…seriously, I know I'm not ready for. Sarek looks at me and I don't even realize I'm doing it but I'm heading up the steps to the porch to him. Dad gives me a funny look and bows a little and backs away.

"Your parents tell me you have been a serious student of Vulcan language and culture."

I bow a little and then meet his eyes. I can't help it, but I'm feeling a little feisty so I answer in Shi'Kahri, "_I am honored."_

And I'd swear he looks just a little bit _amused._

I square my shoulders, and toss my hair back. He may be too much of an adult to make a good teen crush in real life, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun at his expense. "So, Mr. Motorcycle Racer, think you could handle a game of badminton?"

And to my surprise he takes me up on the offer.

Well, kind of. He follows me out to the front porch and for a long time just stands there watching us play and I can't tell if he's bored or interested. Finally I go over to him.

"Well?"

"You are not playing in accordance with the standard rules for the activity."

"Oh, so you are familiar with them?"

"Yes. I have read them."

"Well, obviously we don't care."

"Obviously." He repeats. "You are lobbing the shuttlecock randomly among yourselves."

I hand a racket to him and it looks ridiculously flimsy in his strong-looking hands. "Try."

"I must contend with lesser gravitation and more strength than this activity requires."

"Well." I put my hands on my hips. "I thought Vulcans were all about control." I'm pretty sassy the way I say it, and I'm glad my mom's not within earshot or I'd be spending tomorrow mowing the lawn. Twice.

"Indeed. A challenge." He says, gamely.

"Indeed." I respond evenly, but take off with a laugh. We mostly ignore him, but eventually R Junior sends a shot his way and Sarek takes a swipe at it. I knew what would happen: he's looking around for the shuttlecock while we can all see the thing stuck in the weave of the cheap racket.

"Too hard!" I laugh. "Restrain yourself!"

He doesn't chase after us—no surprise—but after a couple of more stuck shuttlecocks manages to get a hit in that sends one clear out past the dock.

He blinks, looking just a little tiny bit dismayed. "I have lost the object in play."

Big Bro just pulls another one out of his back pocket. "Easier to fish out of the water than to get out of the trees. Go long, Bobby!"

He starts to get the hang of it and soon is returning our volleys with deadly accuracy.

I walk back to Sarek. "Show off."

"Skill."

"Huh." I sniff, but I think it's obvious I'm actually impressed. "Here. Let me show you an alternate hold to the Vulcan Death-grip of Doom."

"There is no such—"

But he shuts up once I grab his hand and work my fingers around his fist to loosen his grip. "You don't have to hold on so…tightly…"

But suddenly I have the weirdest feeling, like time around us has just totally lurched to a stand-still and I feel…strange. I'm a little scared, then and I look up into Sarek's face. Everything around us seems to have just…stopped. I jerk back and everything moves all normal again. Oh, no. What an idiot!

"I'm so sorry. Really." I hold my hands up in the air like I've burned them. Don't touch Vulcans. NEVER touch Vulcans. _Everyone_ knows that!

He is staring with some kind of intense disbelief and he whispers something that sounds like a question.

"What?"

He shakes his head and hands the racket to me. "Impossible."

I take the racket and run my other hand through my hair, feeling awkward and stupid. "Yeah. I know. My mom tells me I'm impossible all the time. I mean, we _lived_ on Vulcan. I don't know how I could forget something so basic…"

But he has already turned on his heel and gone back into the house.

"Good going, Mandy. You've single-handedly destroyed the relationship between earth and Vulcan." R Junior teases me.

"Shut _up."_

He lobs a shuttlecock at me, and I half-heartedly pop it back to him. They know I've really embarrassed myself this time and are as mean and rude to me as they can be to get me to forget about it. Pretty soon, I pretty much do. Whatever.

He doesn't stay much longer after that. In fact, he seems to be in a hurry to go. I wander down to the dock behind Sarek and Dad and the rest of the family to wait for the Embassy's shuttle. I have to admit he still looks pretty cool—handsome—with his long dark robe blowing in the breeze, the silver Vulcan symbols running down the front all glinting in the sunlight.

He turns to us to give his last farewell as the shuttle settles onto our lawn.

"I taught you badminton. Teach me something next time?" I say and I almost put my hands over my mouth I'm so surprised at what came out.

"Most spirited." Hands behind his back, he gives a slight bow. "I would be honored to reciprocate."

It's nothing. A formality…and yet when our eyes meet…he's searching for something, an acknowledgement, I'm sure of it. But the moment passes.

And then, in a bluster of goodbyes from the Graysons, he's gone.


	3. Ch 3 First Interlude

Amanda's Story: The First Intermission

Fireside, Admiral Grayson's House, near Seattle

Grace's POV

"Well, how have I done so far?" I ask.

Sarek looks distracted and says nothing.

After a moment my brother Robert nods. "That's pretty close to my recollection. I suppose Amanda told you the story herself."

"Bits and pieces over time."

"You left the finale out, though." Robert complains.

"I did?"

"After the Vulcan shuttle took off. What Amanda said."

My brother looks at me with raised eyebrows, waiting, but I don't have anything more to add. "I don't know. You tell me."

Robbie speaks up. "After Sarek left, Amanda said she 'was going to marry that Vulcan someday.' My…father included that part of the story."

Uhura laughs lightly, disbelieving. "That sounds suspiciously like revisionist history. What one might conveniently think they remember after the fact."

"Indeed." It sounds like Spock is of the same mind.

"No…" Robert says slowly. "She was more of a tomboy than a romantic. It was an odd thing for her to say." He chuckles a little to himself. "Even given the crush nonsense."

"My Dad thought so, too." Robbie adds, thoughtfully.

I can believe she said it, though. But Chris, along with Spock and Uhura still look skeptical.

Sarek nods toward the fire. "She, too, was surprised by her own words."

Spock and Uhura share a look.

"I was not unaffected by young Amanda's touch. _Shan'hal'lak_ is rare enough between Vulcans. But to be so affected by a human? A child? I sought a Healer's assistance immediately. I thought I had unwittingly contracted a severe psychic illness on one of my assignments."

"And the Healer's diagnosis?" Spock prompts his father.

"That somehow her human emotions had simply overwhelmed me. Nothing more. I was in perfect health. Yet, I remained …puzzled …by the incident."

A thoughtful silence falls around the crackling and dancing fire. The cool breeze lifts and murmurs through the treetops high above us, drawing a flare of sparks upward. They rise in a swirl, tumbling in their race upward; then one by one disappear.

I am glad to hear Robbie recount a memory of his father: a rare pleasure. He was just a boy when Robert Junior was killed at Vulcanis, and rarely speaks of him.

Uhura leans forward. "What did you teach her?"

Sarek stares at Uhura.

"Her request. When you next met up with her…?"

Sarek turns back to me with a slight wave of his hand. "I will supplement Grace's tale as necessary." He leans back and closes his eyes. "Point of fact: I was better at badminton than described."

That's the Vulcan I remember, the one Amanda fell in love with, that could slip a little humor past the rest of the Embassy staff.

"As I recall, Sarek, you taught her to play chess." I begin.


	4. Ch 4 Amanda's Story: Sixteen

Amanda's Story: Sixteen

Fireside still

Amanda's POV

I follow T'Lel, my summer internship advisor, down the long corridors toward Junior Ambassador Sarek's office. In her long black robes she moves smoothly as a snake, never seeming to hurry, but I can hardly keep up with her. I feel graceless and uncoordinated in comparison, my limbs just not built to move in that same way. The light in this part of the Embassy shifts from the blue-white of earth light to the reddish hues of Vulcan. The walls here are covered in lush maroon draperies with occasional sconces that flicker with artificial firelight. There is art and it looks purposeful, more like a history of art—or art that tells history—than anyone's aesthetic choices.

T'Lel stops so suddenly-and I'm so distracted by looking around-that I almost run into her from behind. She gives a slight arch of her eyebrow, and I have the uncomfortable feeling again that I am annoying her. Still, she bows and gestures to Sarek's open office door. "You have been allotted fifteen earth minutes to update the Junior Ambassador on your activities."

When I thank her, she says nothing, but her eyebrow lifts just a little bit higher. She turns military fashion on her heel and posts herself outside the door.

Sarek works for a moment longer before looking up and I wait, as instructed, for him to invite me to be seated—which he does with nothing more than a little hand gesture.

"I trust, Miss Greyson, that your internship proceeds well?" He asks neutrally when he finally looks up.

"It's good, but a little boring working with the translators."

He looks slightly taken aback, and I think maybe I've said something offensive.

"Umm. I mean, I'm happy working here. Thank you for the opportunity."

Now he raises an eyebrow. "It was logical to hire you. One does not thank logic."

I may be in the Vulcan Embassy, but this is still Earth. "On earth, politeness is considered a sign of good manners."

He studies me silence for a moment. "I see. Nonetheless, you were hired because it was logical to do so. You have language skills of use to the Embassy, and you were available during…your seasonal holiday."

I look down, and smile to myself. He won't back down, either.

"Are you indeed 'happy' working here, or is that remark also a politeness?"

"It's interesting here. I guess that's equal to happy."

"And you experience both happiness and your stated boredom concurrently?"

I laugh. "I feel a lot of things. But mostly, I think it's really interesting to work here, and it's a good way to practice Standard Vulcan."

Sarek nods approvingly. "T'Lel speaks highly of your work with the children of the Embassy's staff."

I'm totally surprised! I didn't think she even liked me. "I…I enjoyed that a lot. In fact…" I say it shyly because it's kind of personal: a feeling, not a plan. "I've…been thinking maybe I'd like to be a teacher."

"I wish you success in that endeavor."

I think he's going a little over-board now, to demonstrate he knows perfectly well how to be polite in Federation Standard.

"I am honored that we have assisted in helping you find your life's work."

Relieved that he accepts my goal at face value, I tell him about the translation projects I've been helping with; mostly the on-going effort to translate some of the more obscure treatises on Surak's Dialects into readable Standard. I've been having fun, too, trying to paraphrase some of the key concepts in the Dialects into a kids' book in Standard, something that I've never seen and think there is a demand for. In my enthusiasm, I try describing my idea.

Sarek steeples his hands and is staring at me. I think he's amused.

"I'm serious. The Ten Keys should be made into a book for human children. Why shouldn't we have the opportunity to grow up with Surak's wisdom, too?"

"Your insight and creative impulses are most…interesting."

"Miss Greyson, please come with me." T'Lel enters Sarek's office to retrieve me. Oh, joy: six more hours of revising passive voice.

Sarek stands. "I have neglected to fulfill an obligation to you, Miss Greyson."

"To…me?"

"Indeed. You asked that I teach you something in exchange for your…sports lesson."

"Well…that was a long time ago. Don't feel obligated."

"As a Vulcan I _feel_ nothing of the sort. However, as a Vulcan I am compelled to honor my obligations. T'Lal, please add fifteen minutes at the end of her daily shift—"

"—Hey!" I object. I mean, it's the Bay Area, and there's a ton of fun things I plan to be doing this summer with my free time!

"—to meet with me for tutoring. Unless you object, Miss Greyson?"

I swallow. In Seattle, out of context, the Junior Ambassador had seemed a lot less intimidating. An offer of his time…my heart jumps a little in my chest and I swallow.

He tilts his head, waiting patiently for me to respond. I wish I didn't feel so shaky in his presence, so…affected. I toss my hair back, pretending to be more nonchalant than I feel. "It would be a great resume builder."

For just a blink of an eye he looks taken aback again, then…nothing. He nods, and I am forced to follow T'Lel as she turns and leaves the room. I'm not sure I could find my way out, otherwise.

When T'Lel leads me back at the end of my work day, I'm surprised. I'd thought it might take a day or two to implement this new schedule. I'm surprised, too, when T'Lal posts herself outside the open door, as before.

After he does the little 'sit' gesture again, I lean forward. "Are you guys afraid I might be dangerous?" I look back at T'Lel.

Sarek raises an eyebrow and stands. "Hardly." He picks up a small table from one side of the room and places it beside me. I turn as he draws another chair across from me. The little table is already set up with a chess set.

"Do you know the game?"

"I've played it a little with my Dad."

"Most helpful." Sarek shifts to Standard Vulcan. "You already know the pieces and their moves. We can move forward to discussions of strategy, then."

I suppose I can run with this. It will give us something to talk about.

Afterward, I make the mistake of complaining to T'Lal about being chaperoned.

She stops and turns to me. "You do not understand. I stay at the Ambassador's own request."

I watch her study my confusion.

"We are aware of the risks of news bias on earth, of rumor. The Embassy will remain above reproach. There is not to be even the appearance of impropriety."

The chess lessons go well, punctuating my days as he patiently guides me toward thinking more strategically and correcting my Vulcan Standard as we practice.

The remnants of my schoolgirl crush show up in the way I still have to take a breath and calm down before I enter Sarek's office. I think I would still die of embarrassment if he knew. Dark hair, dark eyes, charisma: still eye candy. But in his presence, well…I just try to be real and not act like a teenage idiot.

He _watches_ me. I compare the way he looks at me now to when we first met-the shocking indifference-that is not what I see now. What I see now is curiosity…and there's something searching in his expression, like he's trying to figure something out. He's never less than formal, though. I appreciate that he's making time for me out of respect for my father, I'm sure, and their many years of work together.

I try not to take his tutoring for granted. It's cool that he's doing this for me, making this summer break a great experience. I'm happy to be off the island. I'm happy to be staying with my brother at his Palo Alto apartment-he's taking summer term classes to finish up his degree at Stanford. I know Big Bro likes a little of my home cooking, too, even though he complains and calls me a pest like in the old days.

I'm happy having Sarek tutor me in Vulcan Standard—or teach me chess, as he calls it. I get to ask him questions about Vulcan culture and history, and sometimes he even talks with me about what life on earth is like for him.

I lean forward onto the little chess table, putting my chin in my hands. I think over why I've lost for a moment, before sighing. "So…a scenario. You have a new guy, some Junior Junior-Ambassador. What's the first thing you tell him about living in San Francisco?"

Sarek sits back, thinking. "If he is invited to karaoke to run, not walk, to the nearest exit."

I almost choke on my tea. When I can breathe again, and I'm no longer dying laughing, I stand. T'Lel is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed: my signal that it is time to go.

I thank the Ambassador as usual, but just tap the back of Sarek's hand with my fingertips before I go. "That was just cruel, you joker."

"Fascinating." He replies.

So in a surge of generally feeling pretty happy about everything, including my experimental independence and this little adventure as a cultural attache' slash intern at the Vulcan Embassy, I make a mistake. Sarek has quickly beaten me, soundly, again, at chess—even handicapped by removing half his chess pieces and while discussing the history of Shi'Kahr. Sarek's resetting the board and I'm standing to go when I impulsively bend a little and give him just the littlest pat on the hand before thanking him for the game—quick, like I'd touch Dad or Mom. Okay, so I'm thinking how much I like him when the impulse hits me.

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

And there's this flash, this micro-expression that I don't miss: Sarek looks at me with affection. That's all there is to it, it's there and gone. But I smile back and he nods.

The next day when I arrive my Advisor has sharp words with Sarek. I can tell by the accent they're speaking a dialect I don't know, maybe his native Shi'Khari or pre-reformation Vulcan. I stand back while they continue to speak in sharp clipped terms and I wait, for the first time feeling uncomfortable.

T'Lel avoids my eyes, but this time does not stay; she turns in her usual sharp manner and strides away. Sarek stands rooted, watching her go.

"I can go. I think I can find my way back now."

He takes a breath and slowly turns to me. "Today, I will prepare tea. Please be seated."

Always before, and probably to hurry us, T'Lel magically produced the tea as our games of chess lingered past the originally allotted fifteen minutes.

Today, he rummages around the corner of his office, obviously unaccustomed to operating his own replicator. When he finally hands me a cup of tea, I don't think it is accidental that his fingertips graze mine.

He looks at me with that searching look.

"Our intelligence officers…request we cease our meetings."

"Well, let's just ignore them."

His lips compress, twist slightly. "It is a command, not truly a request."

"Oh." I find myself tearing up. "I'm sorry."

A furrow appears between his eyebrows. "You have done nothing wrong."

"I must have or…" My throat closes on me. Dad's going to be so disappointed in me. I promised I wasn't going to screw this up. Well…at least I'll play a better game of chess when I get home.

"This is not the termination of your internship. Merely…a hiatus in tutoring."

"Because I touched your hand."

"Technically…" He straightens a little. "Because _our_ hands touched a second time."

"T'Lel…?"

"Yes: she is our…chaperone."

"But…but _you_ just touched my hand. I mean, your fingertips…"

"A third touch, to emphasize that you are not faulted for this."

I stand and sip the last of the herbal tea, and cradle the little blue ceramic cup in my hands. I'm both angry and hurt, but determined not to embarrass my family or myself. "I appreciate all you've done for me, Ambassador Sarek. Thank you so much." I hold the cup out to him.

He reaches for the cup with both hands, his hands clasp the cup _and_ my hand. "It is the same." Sarek murmurs, shaking his head. He carefully slides the cup from my hand. "You regret that we will not be meeting."

"Sure."

He gives a slight shake of his head. "Our people, our ways are so different."

"I don't understand."

He looks into my eyes. "I wait."

It makes no sense at all. He steps away and turns without another word and reseats himself at his desk, apparently going back to his work, so I turn and go. Or maybe flee is a better word.

I have almost three weeks left of my internship, but the days pass differently without my afternoon visits with Sarek. Occasionally, I see him from a distance; sometimes our eyes even meet. I try to focus on the translation projects; plus I throw myself into my work in the Embassy school.

I don't expect anything on my last day, but the Embassy School children surprise me with a card: a small painting they have collaborated on of the Llangon Mountains at dusk. On the back the children have signed their names, and I'm happy that I can now read them. In Federation Standard I thank them, and they respond in kind with 'you're welcome.' One small accomplishment made, anyhow.

As I clean my desk, everyone I have worked with this summer comes by: T'Lel and the other school teachers, the translators, even the support staff and a few of the black-garbed security guards. I thought I'd been keeping a low profile. Evidently I was wrong. Most bow or salute me with the ta'al and a simple 'live long and prosper', and a word or two of comment on my work. It leaves me surprised, really feeling like I was a part of the Embassy community after all. Maybe I had been all along and it was my own low expectation for acceptance that kept me from seeing it. I look around, and close my eyes putting my hands over my heart. I will miss this place, these people.

When I open my eyes, Sarek is there, lingering in my office doorway, hands clasped before him in the sleeves of his formal robe.

"The Embassy will provide you with a shuttle to the public transporter."

He steps more closely to me. "Your work has been meritorious. The staff commend you. Of course, most have had little experience working so directly with a human youth. Perhaps their expectations were low."

I open my mouth in annoyance then close it, realizing he is teasing me. I put my hands on my hips. "Perhaps Vulcans are not so superior as they believe themselves to be."

"I rather suspect you are correct." He responds dryly, more to himself than to me. "In turn, perhaps we Vulcans do not deserve to be so feared."

"Oh. Am I remiss?"

"Miss Greyson?"

I step a little closer and look up into his face. "I'm not afraid. Should I be?"

The energy between us seems a little intense, and he is the one to finally step back.

"Of course not." He says quickly, turning away.

"I'd like to come back next summer. I think the children like me."

When he turns back, he's his usual formal self. "I would suggest, rather, that they find your lessons 'stimulating'."

"If you say so."

"I expect my schedule to require my presence on Vulcan during your next solar summer holiday. Does that affect your interest in returning to work here?"

"No." I shrug, "There's so much to learn here. So much to teach."

I can't read any reaction from him at all.

"I will make a note of your interest for my staff's consideration."


	5. Ch 5 Sarek's Interlude - 17, 18

Amanda's Story: Second Interlude (17, 18 years old)

Fireside still

Sarek's POV (his recollections not shared as part of the fireside story)

She was a true child of earth, full of energy and light. When she left at the end of her first internship, the entire Embassy seemed emptied: dimmer without her presence, her startling laughter, her surprising turns of phrase. I was not alone in this impression: eight of my immediate staff enquired as to her likelihood of return even before I had the opportunity to announce Amanda's interest in returning for her next seasonal school hiatus.

My time was nearing, the end of a seven year cycle. I knew I could not risk interaction like this with Amanda much longer. I knew my judgment was flawed concerning her, hence my appointment of T'Lel to police my actions. I chose to return to Vulcan to get away from her, to protect her. I could not trust myself not to respond instinctively.

I lean forward on my knees, the radiant heat of the fire gently warming; the cold of the night pressing into my back.

I waited for Amanda through my time. The Fires of plak tow proved to be as terrible as described.

The High Council's interest in a marriage between a Vulcan of rank and a human was unrelenting; it was time for this political statement of human and Vulcan unity; a symbolic demonstration of Vulcan's full acceptance of equal partnership with earth. Of course, human emancipation from Vulcan oversight would also reduce the moral and financial burden carried by Vulcan.

Little did the Council know I now obeyed their directive because I no longer had freedom of choice: I was already _hers._ My staff questioned my request for temporary reassignment to Vulcan.

"Surely there is another suitable female…or human female that is of the proper age, Osu Sarek." T'Lel had suggested, knowing this thing of which neither she nor I could speak. "Many, Vulcan and human, would offer their lives to protect you from…this."

"I will have my choice, Teacher."

"To risk your life…" T'Lel, disapproving, would not look me in the face. No Vulcan could, our fear of plak tow is so great.

It was the first great sacrifice I made for Amanda. I would not find release with the priestesses and risk more of their psychological manipulations. I would weather this, I would take no other—already I _could_ not.

I believed I was not so young that the Fires of my time would kill me.

I went to the mountains: to the hermits who were willing to lock away the widowed, the divorced, the single minded, the suicidal, the social outcasts, the rejected, and idealists such as myself who would wait for their _one _and could not resist the call of shan'ha'lak.

Some of the hermits spoke of walking through the Fires to speak with God. In my experience I walked through the Fires to live for a time at the gates of hell. Kaiidth.

I survived.

Barely.

I believe weathering plak tow weakened my heart and was the reason the Rigelian Influenza I later contracted caused such damage.

It had indeed been…an unspeakable experience. I swore, then, if there were any way for me to spare any son of mine from this burden, I would do so.

I glance at Spock. My good intention had unexpected consequences. I thought not bonding with Spock, along with his human elements, might help him avoid pon farr. Instead, this damaged his very sense of self. When he reached his own adolescence, the Healers informed me that my son would be as subject to our cycles as any other Vulcan. I watch the firelight flicker across Spock's strained face. I grieve for his grief, his struggle; yet feel oddly ungrateful to do so when I have been so greatly blessed simply that we both live.

My son runs a finger beneath his collar and pulls out a cord carrying a single bead. I recognize it as a memento Amanda gave him when he returned from his kaswan: the bead a reproduction of Surak's belt tie, a kind of netsuke. Spock fingers the bead for a moment before showing it to Lieutenant Uhura. He bends to her ear, whispers its story, and her face softens with tenderness for him.

"Am I still on track, telling Amanda's tale of her first internship at the Embassy?" Grace asks, smiling gently and turning toward me.

It seems I must return my focus from very far away to answer her. "We were indeed quite satisfied with her presence there."

The fire crackles and flares as Robbie tosses on another cedar log.

"What a wonderful experience that must have been for her." Uhura adds. "Was it unusual to hire such a young intern?"

"Somewhat. My work with the Admiral certainly was referenced in her application, but her credentials and accomplishments were her own. Hiring her was logical."

Chris crosses his arms. "Did you hire her yourself, Uncle?"

I understand his discomfort. Yes, it would have been inappropriate, indeed illegal under human law, had I either encouraged or shown any connection to an underage human girl. I was most cognizant of this danger; the potential for a serious cultural misunderstanding.

"No. That could have had the appearance of impropriety. As with human bureaucracies, personnel issues have separate oversight to avoid just such concerns."

I close my eyes, remembering T'Lel ushering Amanda into my office for the first time; how I had to control my sudden rush of pleasure at her appearance. She was as fresh, as long-limbed and trembling, as energetic…as a colt. I am not given to such analogies, but lack any other reference more accurate. I am grateful to have known her when she was so young. Her eyes: intelligent, bright, curious, ambitious, and anxious.

I look toward my son and see so much similarity of expression in Spock's own eyes.

Before Amanda, I had never known such love; I would have squelched it, if the emotion had the temerity to rise. Yet I learned to love from her, for her. It was neither the Vulcan way, nor Vulcan in kind; yet it grew to become boundless for her, for her son. Amanda revealed a world of experience to me that I did not know existed. Learning to love you…I was ungrounded, exposed, changed forever.

A teacher, indeed.

A dangerous emotion, indeed.

Infinite diversity in infinite combination: our touchstone, our mantra.

As an intern at the Embassy, she was young enough then, that I still suffered under the illusion that she had much to learn from me. Then, I wanted you in the logical, Vulcan way: for my instinctive sense of connection with you, for your intelligence, your beauty, your exotic human nature, and to fully demonstrate my commitment to the partnership between Vulcan and Earth.

My testing had only begun.

When I returned to the Embassy in the fall after my trial, so to speak, by Fire, Amanda had not yet left for college.

"Ambassador Sarek," Amanda began shyly, a young human boy beside her, "I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend Jackie."

I stand. Boyfriend? I look back and forth between them. "I see."

I had returned after nearly dying for you, yet when we meet again you introduced me to your 'boyfriend.' It was worse than ironic. I began to truly understand the complexity of a union between a Vulcan and a human.

This boy Jackie raises his hand uncertainly in the ta'al. "Live long and prosper Ambassador. I'm honored to meet you."

It is a simple thing to control my instinctive hostility toward this young rival. "Peace and long life. I bid you welcome."

"Mandy said you two were friends, but I have to admit it was hard to believe."

"On what basis would you question her veracity?" I snap, defending her honor. Their smiles fade and I realize I have over-reacted.

"He just means he was surprised I know you, Ambassador." Amanda chastises me.

"I see." It is natural she should associate with her kind in this way, I attempt to convince myself. I raise an eyebrow at Amanda. "You consider me your friend?"

She smiles again. "Yeah. Of course."

I bow a little, not showing how moved I am by this casual declaration. "I am honored."

"Ambassador Sarek…are you…okay?"

"Please clarify. I do not understand your question."

"You look…I don't know-kind of sick."

"I am recovering well. Do not concern yourself."

She nods, but looks unconvinced. Later, at the end of the day and when the boy had gone, Amanda brought me tea and I accepted it from her.

No Embassy staff saw fit to object. It was clear to them what this meant. I suspect it had been obvious to them for some time.

As I expected, the relationship with the boy proved transitory.

The next year, Amanda's third return, her first from the University, was much worse. This year's boyfriend she did not bring to me. I was passing down the corridor at the Embassy when I observed her with a companion, laughing.

When Amanda looks up from her desk at the translation center, her face changes color: she is embarrassed. Why?

"Ambassador Sarek." She stands, perhaps at some level responding instinctively, because she stands between the young man and me. "This is William Cortez. He's a physics student at Star Fleet Academy."

I look over Amanda's shoulder at the tall young _man._ This is no boy, no friend. Our eyes lock and this time I react as a Vulcan, but my control is steel: I want to hurt this one, to kill him.

"Live long and prosper, William." I say evenly. His face has the symmetry that humans would consider handsome.

He raises his hand confidently in the ta'al. "Peace and long life, Ambassador Sarek."

This one is a true rival: worthy, a leader. They are lovers. I am instinctively sure of this. I clasp my hands behind my back, my nails digging into my palms. It is well. Amanda must fully comprehend what she chooses when she becomes mine. There should be no curiosity left for what she will leave behind, no regret. My life will be in her hands: only with his bondmate may a Vulcan survive pon farr. For this reason Vulcans, unlike humans, mate for life. Normally, only death or kohlinar severs our bonds. Yes, divorce is possible, one may sever the relationship; but it makes the primal bond a bitter experience indeed. In only the most extreme circumstances can the bond be broken.

This William Cortez is the kind of human Amanda is meant for: a match in type, class, education, intelligence, temperament. For the first time I am uncertain. Do I truly have the right to interfere in the normal human life she surely anticipates? To change the trajectory of her life in such an extreme way?

It is honorable to wait. The choice, still, must be hers. It is not time.

Amanda's expression changes. "Ambassador? Sir? Are you okay?"

"Please…specify." I say softly, just to her. The circumstances are surprisingly challenging.

"I've upset you." She whispers lightly under her breath, pitched only for Vulcan hearing.

I lock eyes with the young man. "Treat her well or you will answer to me."

"Argh." Amanda makes this choking sound. "Ambassador Sarek, you sound just like Dad!"

The young man, the worthy rival, returns my stare without faltering. "Of course, sir."

He is perceptive, too, for his eyes narrow as he studies Amanda and looks back to me. I turn rudely on my heels and leave before the blood drips from my palms.

For a while our chess games fall by the wayside. When they resume, we do not speak of her young man. It is the last week of her summer employment when she does not arrive as expected. I had hoped to plan for the following summer's internship, so I go in search of her.

T'Lel stops me at the entrance to the translation center. A couple of the translators linger in the hall, uncertain. "The human intern is experiencing a loss of control, Osu Sarek."

I brush past her to find amanda weeping, heartbroken, her face pressed into her arms.

I return to T'Lel and order her to bring tea and tissues. I pull a chair up beside the distraught girl and sit. I place my hands on my knees and wait. After a moment T'Lel returns with the items requested. I motion for her to leave them on the corner of the desk beside the girl.

"Miss Greyson."

She snuffles, and with effort finds a modicum of control. She takes a tissue, blows her nose and wipes her face, then sighs heavily.

"Sorry." She manages to say, then winces, almost losing control again.

I offer her another tissue.

"Thanks." She sniffs taking it. "Sorry for disrupting…"

"We…" I stop myself. "I am more concerned for your welfare."

We sit quietly for a moment longer, and when she seems calmer I try again. "Explain."

"We broke up." She clarifies, "It's over with William." Her voice breaks and she sobs, once.

For a moment I am so overwhelmed with exultation that I close my eyes. I clear my throat a little to ensure I can speak evenly. "Indeed."

"I really cared about him." Her face twists, and tears slide down her face.

I offer another tissue, noting her choice of words: past tense, cared versus loved.

She dries her face, swallows. "He said…he said I love you more than I love him."

For just a moment her comment stuns me into silence. _Do you?_ I want to ask.

"Indeed."

She presses her palms to her eyes. "I'm so stupid."

"Such self-recrimination is illogical, Miss Greyson." I try to say it as gently as I can, but she still gives me an annoyed look. Perhaps the distraction from her emotional turmoil is helpful.

"I promise you _logic_ had nothing to do with it."

"I would dispute your conclusion."

"You would."

Indeed, I would. I hand her another tissue and she wipes away a new round of tears.

"He was right."

I tilt my head. "Explain."

She stands, gathering up her bag and a pile of tablets. "I've got to go. I think I've made enough of a fool of myself for one day."

I touch her wrist as I stand. "Bring your tea. Come to my office and meditate in private until you calm down."

She looks up at me in such pain and vulnerability that it takes all my power of restraint not to take her in my arms.

She chews on her lower lip. "It's true. When I was with him…I thought of you." She confesses softly, and then gives a short harsh laugh.

"Crazy human. I know."

"Miss Greyson, I—"

But she turns on her heel and literally runs from the building.

I am impressed when she returns to the Embassy the next day and her work proceeds with normal efficiency. At the end of her day, she arrives at her usual time in my office.

She stands formally, expressionlessly. "I regret my appalling display yesterday, Ambassador."

I rise, folding my hands behind my back. "The cause was sufficient. He was your first lover, was he not?"

It is a risk: it is true, but a very personal statement to make. Her façade of control wavers. She looks away.

"We will speak no more of it." I add.

When she looks back to me, she searches my face with her eyes then looks down. Her eyes fill with tears, but she does not allow them to fall.

She misunderstands. She thinks I do not wish to speak of her confession, that I have rejected her. She is still too young, too inexperienced, her education incomplete. I search for the words to explain this, to open this conversation but she straightens her shoulders before I can determine the right approach.

"Thank you, Ambassador. I am in your debt for your kindness."

"Amanda, such formality is unnecessary between us."

She holds up her hand to stop me from saying more. "Do me the favor of leaving me with a little dignity intact."

I remain silent, then nod...then sigh in resignation. "Chess, then?"

After an hour of play I break the silence. "Perhaps I should be flattered—"

"Don't go there." She scowls.

Our eyes meet for a long moment. I choose to arch my eyebrows just slightly as if questioning her certainty—nothing false, a tease.

The tension breaks. She understands my humorous intent, the tease, but swallows her laughter and tries to hide her smile.

"You're terrible." She mutters, then smiles to herself. "You shouldn't make false promises."

"I never do."

She blinks a little, the crease between her eyes deepening as she questions her certainty that I feel nothing for her.

The seed of doubt is planted. This was most excellent progress.

Lieutenant Uhura shifts in her chair toward Grace, her fingertips coming to rest discreetly on my son's wrist. "What happened next, Grace?"

"Well, the way Amanda told the tale, there was an interesting winter holiday incident that came next…"


	6. Ch 6 Amanda's Story: Nineteen

Amanda's Story: Nineteen Years Old

Amanda's POV [Grace continuing to tell the tale]

Fireside/Thirty-five Years Prior

I'm not even sure I can make it home, the weather's so bad. I just make it to the public transporter by City Hall in Friday Harbor before even that closes down for the snow and sleet coming down sideways. I gather up my courage and my valise and head down the street to the harbor, hoping to find someone willing to pilot me home for Christmas. I luck out when I catch our neighbors just preparing to head back to our island with a last minute load of holiday supplies. They are more than glad to take me home.

I should have left earlier. I should have called. I should have told Dad I was sorry, but all I could think about was Dad with his Christmas tree all alone in the big living room with Mom barricading herself in the kitchen, her nose in a book.

By the time I reach our dock I am just frozen, and of course I slip and fall on the muddy path up to the house so not only are my hands and knees and valise dirty, but I'm sniveling like an overgrown baby. I toss my case on the doorstep and press the doorbell repeatedly like a truant Little Match Girl, unwilling to patiently freeze to death.

When the door opens, the light from inside blinds me and I just stand there bawling and let him pull me inside. He bends to pick up my case, but before he can even bring it in I throw my arms around him and tell him how much I love him and how sorry I am. I am terrified when he doesn't put his arms around me, and I wonder if I've really ruined things between us this time.

I hear the case drop to the floor. Strong hands grasp my shoulders firmly, and I snuggle into Dad's coat and am so relieved and glad to be home that for a moment I just let the tears come down. Finally, I snort back my tears and wipe my eyes on my arm.

"You seem to have reclaimed your equilib—"

I shriek, jumping back. "Oh, my God-_!" And fall back against the door as if I've been given an electrical shock. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?" And before he can respond I'm demanding that Ambassador Sarek tell me where my father is.

We quickly sort out that he is house-sitting while the Vulcan Embassy is being fumigated for Rigelian Fever and various Earth molds toxic to Vulcans; my parents…_gone_ to Seattle for the holidays! And now I'm stuck here with a _stranger_. Well, just a family friend, at any rate. I would swear, but I am too close to starting to cry.

"I did not intend to impersonate—"

"No, of course not." My lower lip is starting to quiver. But he _had_ been wearing Dad's coat.

He seems to understand I'm close to losing it, and seems alarmed. "Evidently my ministrations were ineffective. I did not understand these duties were included in my house-sitting obligations."

His comment doesn't stop the tears from falling, but at least I can laugh through them. "Well, we humans can be pretty emotionally demanding."

He nods, and I think he is relieved. "It appears that you have been wrestling with the front lawn."

I shake my head, realizing I've left muddy pawings all over the Junior Ambassador. I'll have to wash Dad's coat.

"What a mess."

"You speak with multiple layers of meaning."

"Indeed." I say, raising my eyebrows. I have been studying Vulcan linguistics after all.

"I believe it would be logical for you to minister to your well-being. I will not intrude on your privacy."

My father thinks of Sarek as his friend and clearly trusts Ambassador Sarek. I trust my father's judgment. It hadn't crossed my mind to be worried. I remember being pulled into the house, and the strong hands on my shoulders…on my shoulders? I feel that old schoolgirl crush thrill at the thought and quickly push it out of mind. Oh, no, I'm not going _there._

"This situation…would not be perceived as appropriate by my people, nor, I suspect, your own." Sarek is not just clasping his hands, he's close to wringing them.

He's as uncomfortable as I am, I realize, and I think he is asking for reassurance. I wave my hand randomly at the stairs. "I…I'm just going to go clean up."

Sarek's reading a Padd by the fireplace when I come down the stairs. He turns and stands and we have another awkward moment as he stares.

"Better?" I do a model's turn in some slim black pants and a loose silver blouse.

"Your appearance is now aesthetically satisfactory." He pauses for a moment. "Indeed, you are now an adult, Miss Greyson."

I don't misunderstand his surprise, nor his appreciation for what he sees, but I gloss over it. "Seriously. Unless you want me to keep calling you Ambassador Sarek, just call me Amanda."

"In such privacy…you may call me by my given name alone." He says carefully.

"Aren't we informal." I joke. I notice that my valise has been cleaned and placed conveniently for me at the bottom of the stairs.

Sarek seats himself. "You were cold. You will find I have prepared tea for you."

He pointedly goes back to his padd and begins to read, and I stare at the cup of tea steaming away on the coffee table.

"I recalled you use milk and half a teaspoon of sugar." He adds without looking up.

I pick up the mug of tea, and it is made, of course, exactly the way I like it. But even more strange: I have been studying Vulcan culture. Making me a cup of tea, in fact, could have…multiple layers of meaning. He is a true diplomat, indeed, to reach across such a gulf between our customs.

Well, I am a Linguistics Major with an emphasis in Vulcan languages. And here in the best of all possible worlds a private tutor has been trapped with me. I can work with this.

I pull a throw around my shoulders and settle into the opposite end of the sofa from Sarek, putting my feet up on the couch. Of course that gets his attention and he looks up.

"Miss Greyson—"

"Try again."

"Mi… Amanda, is it truly appropriate in a human household to put your feet on the furniture?"

"No." I smile. "I was wondering" and I switch into the Shi'Kahri Vulcanir I have been studying, "_if you agree with Sothak's third postulate on the universality of logic."_

He ignores my switch of languages: so much for showing off.

He continues in Vulcan Standard. "My opinion on Sothak is only relevant if you consider that I am no philosopher. My study of preference was astrophysics." He takes a breath and continues more quietly. I sense more than hear his disappointment. "The High Council has determined that I shall participate in the Diplomatic Corps."

"Astrophysics." I muse. 'The good of the many shall be served over the good of the one, ´ I recite to myself. The Vulcan way, but I feel a little sorry for him regardless. "Not diplomacy."

"No. I thought I might be allowed to pursue my interest in science, but I was mistaken."

"So…why did the High Council want you to be a diplomat?"

"Through no particular skill of my own." He murmurs to himself. He watches me with a bit of challenge in his eyes. "The line of Surak has few remaining strands."

My eyes widen. He is a direct descendent of Surak? I am dumbfounded, for Vulcan has few remaining vestiges of their ancient aristocracy. The S'chn T'Gai are one of the few such families still so recognized.

"You're a prince." I laugh.

"This is only somewhat accurate in translation to Federation Standard." His mouth actually purses in distaste. "I favor the system humans term a 'meritocracy'. I would earn my position and recognition."

I take a sip of tea. "I daresay being an Ambassador is a favorable appointment, even for a Vulcan."

"Indeed." But he looks down, then to one side.

"But your true love was science."

He looks startled for a moment, then enigmatic. "A Vulcan would not think in such a way. We follow logic, and therefore accept our societal obligations without…complaint."

Now, this is getting interesting. "So, you have a telescope at the Embassy?"

At the look on his face, I think _gotcha:_ a Vulcan with a hobby. "Point toward Vulcan."

And he does so, over his shoulder and I laugh. He knew exactly where to find it. I take a deep sip of the tea and settle back, daring to see just how informal I can be with Sarek. "So, how is your motorcycle racing going these days?"

A shadow crosses his face.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I said nothing." He replies sharply, looking slightly cross.

"Too visible for an Ambassador? Too risky for a descendent of Surak?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I commend your logic."

"I'm still sorry. You were good."

"I accept your expression of empathy."

"You're taught to say that. You don't understand why I say 'sorry', do you?"

"No. The concept is alien to me. However, I have learned to follow and respond to your customs."

"You miss racing."

"Such a sentiment would be illogical."

Interesting. His eyes say he's still pissed. "Promise to take me for a ride someday."

"A promise is unnecessary. If you wish so, however, it will be done."

As the tension draws out between us, he turns his attention back to his Padd.

"You haven't given me your opinion on Sothak's third postulate."

"On the universality of logic?" He prods at his Padd. "We should be so lucky."

I laugh abruptly.

"It always works."

My mouth drops open, and when he looks up I can see he's actually teasing me. "It is a quote, a 'joke'."

"You are _working_ me!"

He raises an eyebrow.

Banter, and with Sarek, a _Vulcan_. I'm enjoying this. Maybe being snowed in won't be so bad after all.

"Would you like to play chess?"

"Of course."

"I'll …Oh…"

Sarek looks from me to the coffee table and I realize he's already moved Dad's chess set there and set it up for a game. Have you found our challenges instructive?"

"Indeed." I think of my High School and University chess team trophies upstairs. Sarek's training has been my secret weapon. I jockey the board around on the table, so I can read and eat while playing. I know this will annoy him.

"Perhaps you would like to evaluate my progress?" I challenge.

"I would find that most pleasant…Amanda."

In the morning, I wake up on the couch, my Comm buzzing insistently. It's my Dad and he sounds worried. I don't remember how it got there, but I throw off the afghan covering me. In fact, I don't even remember falling asleep.

"Baby, Sarek called last night and said you're at the house. We were looking for you at the University!"

"But I'm here! I'm sorry Dad. I keep making a mess of things. I wanted to surprise you."

"You did." He laughs, then, and his voice softens. "We all make mistakes, kiddo. I'm sorry, too."

"So, when are you and mom coming home?"

"Soon. Soon. It all depends on the weather. The ports are all iced up and the storm has the Public Transporters all shut down. Can you…manage with Sarek there? I never imagined…"

"Yeah. It's okay. It's just not the Christmas I expected."

"Shush. Don't let your mother hear you say that."

"So you've made up again."

"Of course. We're walking around the waterfront in the snow and snuggling. If a sleigh comes by, we're taking it!" My father laughs. "Especially if it's got a jolly fat Rabbi in a red suit driving it."

I laugh and think things are going to be all right between all of us again.

When I hang up the Comm, Sarek is there and watching me closely.

I laugh and pirouette on my toes. "You'd better watch out. They're coming home! I'm so happy I could hug you!"

Sarek instantly clasps his hands behind his back. "Vulcans do not hug."

"Spoil sport. And you already did."

"You were distraught. Additionally, you mistook me for your father." He takes the kettle from the ancient gas stove to the sink and starts to fill it with water. "It is good that you have returned to positive terms with your family."

"Yeah. That's Christmas enough." I rummage in the stasis box for something for breakfast. "Look at the sun out there. Let's go for a walk in the snow!"

"You cannot be serious." Sarek places the kettle back on the stove. When he rattles the knobs it's clear Dad has shown him the quirks of getting the burners to light.

"Oh, you can't miss it! It's too, too beautiful out!"

He turns and studies me, seems to come to a decision, then nods slowly. "Acceptable."

"Great!" I plunge into planning the day: there are walks to take through the sparkling snow on the lawn, through the great quiet cedars to the view from the hilltop above; meals to prepare; plenty of time by the fire for reading and talking and maybe even chess again later on! It's so good to be home again.

Two days later, when Mom and Dad finally can make their way through the storm and back to the house, they walk in on Sarek and I so focused on a game of chess that I hadn't noticed their arrival until the door opens. Sarek stands, swallowing, and I realize he had been equally engrossed. He swings his hands behind his back and stands formally while I fly into Dad's arms and hug him soundly.

"A snowman with pointed ears, Amanda?"

Mom gives Dad a friendly nudge. "Not a snow_man_, Robert. It's obviously a snow Vulcan."

"And I suppose this was Sarek's idea."

"It was more of a…demonstration." Sarek volunteers. "I assisted with some lifting."

My father grows serious. "Amanda. I hope you didn't make too many demands on the Ambassador's time. He has work to do."

"We had fun, Dad."

Dad looks startled. He's my father. He's always been overprotective, so I can hardly blame him for the look he gives Sarek.

"_Dad—"_ I protest, shocked. "Not like that."

Sarek goes ramrod straight. "Your trust remains unbroken."

"Well, you did have a crush on him once upon a time, Mandy."

If I weren't certain that a 'crush' is such a human concept that Sarek would have no idea what Dad's talking about, I think I would definitely die of embarrassment.

"Robert," Mom protests, pulling Dad into the kitchen, "sometimes you are unbelievably dense."

"A 'crush'?" Sarek asks me. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Nothing. Just foolishness." I try to deflect.

"A crush on me. These were Roberts words. Explain." His eyes narrow.

"Just making coffee!" Mom calls out, and I can hear her whispering sharply to Dad. She raises her voice again. "I think there's some of that Shi'Kahri herbal tea here, somewhere…"

I roll my eyes, suddenly feeling fourteen again. "I…Young female humans…often choose celebrities to obsess over. It's part of growing up." There. That depersonalizes it a little.

"Indeed." He looks thoughtful. "Ah. That explains…"

I purse my lips and cross my arms. "So I wasn't the only one."

"No. Not hardly. I had been puzzled at the attention paid me by a particular age group of girls who did not seem of an eligible age. I had thought it was because of my uniqueness as a Vulcan, racing."

"That, and you looked awfully hot in a racing jacket." I think of his long legs and those boots and-

"It was comfortable, not hot."

"I mean, cute. Attractive."

"Indeed!" But he says it with such uncontrived surprise that I laugh.

"And you have recovered from this pubescent instability?"

"Well, I hope so. What do you think?"

"You are still a very young human. You are emotional and yet intelligent, your logic promising."

"Thanks, I guess."

"There is no need to thank logic." He bows slightly, and I realize he was complimenting me.

"Oh, silly me." I hear mom prattle in the kitchen. "I forgot to turn the tea kettle on…"

Sarek suddenly steps very close to me, within my personal space and watches my face as he does so. My breath catches audibly. I feel the color rise in my cheeks and I look away. I'm suddenly grateful he did nothing like that when we were alone in the house, that our interactions had remained formal.

"Fascinating." He reaches toward me, his fingertips nearing my cheek, and when he speaks again his voice is pitched lower. "I did not understand the wait would be so difficult."

"Sarek?" I breathe, surprised at the tremor in my voice. "What wait?"

He hesitates and shakes his head, but he slowly slides a tendril of my hair between his thumb and index finger before clasping his hands behind his back.

"I will speak with your father." He turns decisively on his heel and walks away.


	7. Ch 7 Amanda's Story: Arranged Marriage

Amanda's Story: Arranged Marriage

Thirty five years Earlier

The story moves to Robert Greyson's POV [Telling Amanda's tale by the fire]

"This has never been done."

"Indeed." Sarek agrees, solemnly. "Perhaps it is time."

I run my hand through my hair. I'm worldly enough to know that the…mechanics of relations between humans and Vulcans seem to work…just fine. Christ, just minutes ago I all but accused Sarek of messing around with my daughter. It embarrasses me; and it's damn awkward to have such thoughts with a Vulcan standing right in front of me. No, not just any Vulcan: Vulcan's Junior Ambassador to Earth—a Vulcan that I've known long enough to consider my friend. And concerning my own young daughter? I know she's attractive; she's had no trouble dating. Boys. Her age. Humans. But attractive to a Vulcan? Unbelievable that Sarek should desire to wed her.

"_My_ Amanda…you could have any woman. Any _other_ woman."

"It is not like you to make such a sweeping generalization, Admiral." Sarek lowers his eyes. "To my regret, I have upset you."

"Damn right."

But he just waits in patient silence.

"Marriage. Full, legal, both planets."

"Yes."

"You know arranged marriage is not the custom here."

"Yet it is Vulcan custom. Marriage is not between two individuals. It occurs between two families: an alliance. For this plan to achieve fruition…the requirements of my own people must be met. Despite the Council's strategic plan, there will be resistance. My own… T'Pau is at odds with the Council on this."

"Plan? The Council? _T'Pau?"_ I turn away, putting my hand to my forehead. "How long have you been working on this?"

"I sensed a…potential compatibility with Amanda at our first meeting."

I flash with protective anger, "_My God_, Sarek. She was only fourteen!"

"It was not a lascivious attraction, Robert." He lets his words sink in for a moment. "Indeed, I was most…astonished at my own reaction, an immediate sense of compatibility. This is quite rare, even between Vulcans, Robert. Let me remind you, my people are mentally bonded at seven Vulcan years of age." He states this very calmly, a counterpoint to my own thoughtless outrage.

"You've been planning this for _five years?"_

"I initiated the logical steps on Vulcan, which I knew would require a significant period of time to complete, should the liaison be acceptable to Amanda. Marriage between adult Vulcans is complicated. More so for myself: a descendant of Surak, and a widower. And to marry a human… Because of the differences in our human and Vulcan lifespans, it was logical to utilize her remaining developmental years to complete the approval processes, to thereby maximize the years available for marriage."

"Amanda has to make her own choice, Sarek."

"I ask only…" He searches for the right word, "…your blessing. Even among Vulcans, both participants must be willing. First, she must complete her maturation. Then…I believe she will find this arrangement logical."

"We're talking about my daughter. I don't want just logical or 'willing' for her. She deserves to be _loved."_

"The word we use…is cherish. This I can and do promise, that I will cherish her with all my being should she become my wife. It is…our way. Indeed…instinctive. Perhaps already…"

Sarek's voice trails off and he studies the floor. I understand he is going out on a limb here; nearly admitting to intimacies never spoken of even between Vulcans, but still I don't know. I don't know. "If she wants children…."

"I understand it is possible. It has…already happened between our people."

"Elizabeth Tucker didn't survive."

Sarek closes his eyes. "Our scientists have determined the flaws in her development could be overcome. That child's life, and death, is remembered and deeply honored by my people."

I know these people; I have been a guest of their families, in their homes; I have seen how protective they are of their children; how graciously spouses treat one another. I _love _these amazing people, this rich and amazing culture. And yet…to have my own child become part of it frightens me. I feel like I would lose her...that she might become alien to me. There is still so much about Vulcan we do not know. What do I not know that I should protect her from?

And my own fears give me great sorrow to find that—with a lifetime of experience working as a military liaison with Vulcan's Guardians and Embassy—I am not free from xenophobia.

Yes, it is logical to demonstrate the closeness of the relationship between our two planets. This kind of political marriage has roots deep in earth's history, too. It makes sense that Sarek choose a very young human, given the Vulcan lifespan is at least twice that of humans. Although he is a decade my senior, Sarek is considered youthful by his own people.

Yes, she is already versed in Vulcan language and culture; obsessed with it, even.

Yes, she has even shown signs of favoring Sarek specifically.

It's just that…this is not the life I imagined for her. Could she be happy?

Is it even morally right for me to approve on her behalf?

"Your caution is understandable, Robert. Commendable." He takes a deep breath. "If I cannot convince Amanda of the benefit of this alliance within two years… I will be required to accept the Council's alternate selection."

I study his face, trying to understand him. "It's your life, too, Sarek. Why would you accept your Council's 'request for a strategic liaison' at all?"

"I did, in fact, resist this directive. I am not inclined to accept an indiscriminate selection, nor a human female who would find such an arrangement acceptable. Amanda…for me…changed the equation."

He has been under Council pressure since his wife's passing, then. And Sarek just admitted his attraction, that he has more than a purely logical interest in Amanda. I suddenly realize the magnitude of such an admission coming from a Vulcan. No, from _this_ Vulcan.

"Two years, Sarek. Court her, then—_if_ she is willing. Treat her well. If she can tell me she loves you" I close my eyes, "you will have my blessing."

Oh, Lord, what have I done? "I have to trust you not to use any Vulcan mind control techniques."

He has the grace to look deeply offended.

"I regret that there is need for such words between us."

"My daughter." I say simply.

But Sarek is not finished. "You will come to a new level of understanding of Vulcan determination." There is steel in his voice. "And honor."

I study Sarek's face and the strain showing around his eyes and in the set of his jaw. I offer my hand and with only a little hesitation Sarek takes it. I give it a firm shake, then release.

"Well…" I chuckle to myself. "You may just need that determination. Amanda has quite a mind of her own."

"I have noted evidence of this."

"And you plan to break this news to her how?"

He gives me an evaluating stare. "Would not a direct declaration be the logical course?"

I close my eyes and shake my head. "I don't mean to stack the deck, but—"

"-To 'stack the deck'?"

"Eh, to 'give an unfair advantage.' "

"I am confused. Do you offer or withdraw this advantage?"

I close my eyes, trying not to be exasperated. I look around to make sure my wife is not in earshot. "Look, Sarek. I know a thing or two about women, er, human ones, anyhow. Let me give you a little advice."

"I am…all ears." Sarek raises his eyebrows expectantly.

I laugh. Yes, he is indeed my friend-potentially my son-in-law! I laugh again at the strangeness of the thought, and realize I am just fine with the idea of Sarek being part of my family. I clasp his shoulder and he does not object to the gesture. "You know, maybe I'm okay with giving you an unfair advantage."


	8. Ch 8 Amanda's Story: Near Miss

Amanda's Story: Twenty Years Old

Still Fireside: Thirty-four years earlier

Back to Robert Grayson's POV- Telling a part of the tale

I feel the blood drain from my face. "Oh. That's…that's wonderful, honey. Are you sure?" I asked Sarek to let her finish the school year at least, before attempting to court Amanda. He reluctantly agreed to continue to wait for her. What harm, another six months?

My wife squeals in excitement. "My baby's going to get _married!"_

"No, mom. No, what I said is that Randy _asked_ me."

"But…but, baby…you've known him for years. Don't you know what the answer is?"

My daughter scowls and turns away from us, her hands clenching on the rim of the kitchen sink. "Yes. No. I don't know, Mom. It…it just…I just…"

"Baby," I ask, "Do you…love him?"

"Randy loves me. He said so." She looks up into my eyes. "I _like_ him. I know I do…but…"

My wife and I exchange a look.

"Amanda, dear." My wife soothes. "If you don't know for sure…the answer is _no_. Wild horses couldn't have stopped me from running off with your father." She strokes our daughter's hair. "But…a Weismann wedding would have been…nice. The Weismann's…" She sighs.

Amanda turns around, but there are no tears. "I... I was afraid that's what you'd say. Mom…can you forgive me?"

"It's not about what I want. It's about what _you _want." A thought seems to hit her, suddenly, and she frowns. "You aren't still hooked on that Vulcan, are you?"

I swallow. Maybe it was a mistake not to share my conversation with Sarek with my wife.

"I want that _feeling_ with someone, Mom."

My wife's eyes narrow. "What…feeling?"

"Like there's nowhere else I'd rather be but with him. Like I'm half of something whole."

"Seriously, Amanda?" I ask, surprised. She's never mentioned having such intense feelings for the Ambassador.

My wife rolls her eyes. "That crush, again—"

"No, Mom. Not like that. I seriously like Sarek. Liked him. I don't know. I mean, I know Sarek can't _feel_ anything for me, but—" Amanda blows out a sharp breath, frustrated. "I feel like I'd be losing out if I didn't have that kind of feeling—I mean, the way _I_ feel around him-with someone. Like I'd be making a mistake."

"My daughter, the romantic?" My wife says doubtfully. "I know one way you could get over Sarek fast. Tell him how you feel and see what happens."

"You might be surprised." I say sharply, and both women turn to stare at me.

I swallow.

"As if he could be carrying a torch for Amanda-" She laughs, but her laugh dies in her throat when she realizes I am completely serious.

"Robert?"

"Dad?" They say simultaneously.

Oh, the tangled webs we weave: or at least one I've managed to trap myself within!

"Honey, could you start dinner?" I ask Amanda. "I have a conversation I need to have with your mother."

Once I've made it entirely clear that I may be sleeping on the couch for the rest of my life, I go to my office and page Sarek. Fortunately, he answers his Comm link immediately.

"How may I be of assistance, Admiral?"

"I..ah, this is personal business. Regarding Amanda."

"I see. One moment." The screen goes dark for a moment, then Sarek returns. "I have privacy now. Greetings, Madam Grayson."

My wife nods in response, her arms still crossed over her chest. One finger tapping on her elbow is all the irritation she's letting show.

"Sarek. There is a problem with" I glance at my wife, "our plan. The neighbor boy has proposed to Amanda."

Sarek closes his eyes for a long moment. "It was an inherent risk of waiting. She has matured to social eligibility." I notice his hands are gripping the edge of his desk. "Does she plan to accept this proposal?"

Under her breath, my wife hisses. "Robert, you are in serious trouble—"

"She is only considering it." I answer Sarek.

He nods slowly, and when he speaks he sounds a little stunned. "I agreed with you that she needed to complete her schooling…to continue to socialize with her peer group…"

"I didn't think anything would go this far. I'm sorry."

Sarek studies my face, and I think he is wondering whether I have betrayed him intentionally.

"She doesn't love him." My wife says suddenly. "She was only considering accepting because she thought it was what I wanted."

Sarek looks down; clearly thinking the likelihood of betrayal was growing. "Robert, you did not inform me that your wife objects to my proposal—"

"Oh, please, don't use that word. Not yet. Let me get used to this idea first!" My wife cries.

Sarek looks to me for explanation, his expression cold.

"I didn't share your interest in marrying Amanda with my wife. This proposal forced my hand." I run my hand through my hair. Damn.

He studies us in silence for a moment. "I forget that human relationships allow for such complications. Being bonded, such duplicity is rare between Vulcan spouses."

"_Strategy_, not duplicity Sarek!"

Now I am a lousy husband in addition to being a lousy friend.

My wife holds up her hand. "I'm going to give you both credit for trying to do what is best for Amanda, whether you deserve such credit or not."

Sarek and I both wait while she pauses, neither one of us daring to continue just yet.

"You two fools." She shakes her head and addresses Sarek. "When we came home at Hanukah I was sure there was something going on between you and Amanda…and then you just shut down." She pauses to glare at me. "I wondered what happened. How soon can you get here, Sarek? You need to be talking to Amanda, not us."

The Comm goes blank so quickly that my wife and I both laugh.

"Shall we time him?" I note the time on my communication console. "Well, I wonder what Amanda's making for dinner." I try to kiss my wife, but she ducks my approach.

"Oh, no you don't! I am so angry at you right now I could cook _you_ for dinner." But she grabs my hand as we climb down the stairs.

As I half expected, the doorbell chimes when we hit the bottom of the stairs. A direct transport here: now, that's some serious pull! My wife stops me.

"Amanda! Can you get the door?" She calls out.

"Mom—you're closer." Amanda huffs in annoyance as she passes us, spoon in hand, a towel around her waist for an apron.

Amanda opens the door, to Vulcan's Junior Ambassador. The sleeves of his traditional robes are still rolled up for working at his desk.

"Sa-sarek!" Amanda jumps, astonished to see him.

I don't need more convincing that they belong together. The look on both of their faces is enough: her delight, his anxiety.

"Ask him in." My wife prompts, and Sarek steps forward.

Still gaping, Amanda closes the door behind him.

"Looks like the Ambassador just happened to be passing through the neighborhood." My wife observes wryly.

Astonished, Amanda points upstairs: toward my office and the main Comm. "You…told him? About Randy? Oh, Jesus, Mom."

"Don't take what's his name in vain. And why are you blaming me? Your father is up to his eyeballs in this fiasco."

Amanda looks up at Sarek. "I'm so sorry you got dragged into this…this weirdness."

"Go ahead. Tell him what you told us."

"_Mom!_ Stop it."

"What words should I hear, Amanda?" Sarek quietly urges her.

She looks to me for reassurance, and I nod for her to go ahead.

Amanda drags a hand over her face. "Oh, God. I said that I want to marry someone who makes me feel like I do when I'm with you."

"Go on, baby girl." I prompt her.

"Someone who makes me feel like there's nowhere else I want to be. Like I'm half of something whole." Still holding the spoon, Amanda covers her face with her hands. "I'm ready to die of embarrassment now."

Sarek holds his hands out to her, palm up. "Let logic speak, Amanda: if you feel content _with me_; if you feel whole _with me_; who should you at least _consider_ marrying, then? What does logic dictate?"

She stares at his hands, still too stunned to react, and shaking her head. "I never imagined you offering."

Amanda searches Sarek's face. Then, tucking the spoon into her apron, she cautiously places her trembling hands in his. Sarek breathes a sigh of what could only be relief. "You do not plan to accept this boy's proposal."

"I haven't told him no. He said he loves me."

Sarek actually winces. "You must refuse him." Then his face softens. "You are teasing me." He raises her hands to his nose to smell then examine them. "Purple stains. You are cooking plomeek soup. You could not have known I was coming."

"I didn't." Amanda breaks into a shy smile. "But I was thinking of you."

She slides her hands from his and steps back, the smile fading but she still looks up at him. "Look. I'm not ready to marry _anyone._"

"Acceptable."

"I want to finish school. Get a teaching job." Amanda puts her hands on her hips.

"Acceptable."

"I don't even know if we're…compatible."

"I question your logic. You already know this to be true."

Amanda glances at my wife and I, and I see Amanda blush fiercely. "I know, but I mean…'_compatible'…"_

I swallow. What he says next could make or break—

"Ah. I understand." He brushes her cheek with the back of his fingers. "There exist couples who demonstrate that intimate liaisons between Vulcans and humans can prove quite mutually satisfactory. Should you care to interview them, arrangements can be made to-"

"No! No… I mean, I believe you! Enough!" Red faced with embarrassment, she backs away from Sarek, waving her hands. "If I ruin the soup again, Mom will get completely mad at me. Do you know how expensive plomeek is on Earth?"

Amanda charges into the kitchen.

I call after her, "I know how bad it smells when you burn it."

My wife strides up to Sarek and wags a finger in his face. "You will _date_ her and treat her like a gentleman. A _human_ gentleman. And when she is ready, and only then, will you pursue this."

"As you wish, Mrs. Grayson."

My wife, not one to be trifled with, turns on her heel and hurries after Amanda, and into the kitchen.

"You did mention Vulcans consider marriage a liaison between families."

"So I did." Sarek begins to unroll the sleeves of his robe.

"How are you doing so far? Any regrets?"

"It is a strange but fascinating journey." He straightens his collar and brushes the fabric of his robes smooth, then squares his shoulders. "I regret nothing."

"Well, my friend, looks like you should consider yourself invited to dinner."

"Robert. I doubted you. For this I…apologize. You immediately contacted me to remediate this situation. This was the action of…a friend. Any plan…is subject to varying degrees of success."

This is no ordinary man, no ordinary Vulcan. "Apology accepted, if you will accept mine. I should have conferred with my wife."

His gives a slight bow, accepting my apology. "You chose to walk alone into the desert." He searches my face to see if I understand the Vulcan idiom, and then explains, "I believe that would translate to 'treading upon dangerous ground.'"

"Indeed." I reply. "Spoken like a man who's been married?"

"There is no teacher like experience."


	9. Ch 9 Amanda's Story: First Touch

Amanda's Story – First Touch

Fireside still-

Grace's POV, piecing the story together in third person. Amanda and her mother are together in the kitchen of the Grayson house. In response to an important question: Some of this part of the story she may know, but surely wouldn't share around the fire what happens between S/A in private (We peek in with consideration!)

A/N: Adult themes implied.

"So for the nice neighbor boy who's known you all your life, who loves you, who wants to marry you…you feel no spark."

Amanda clings to the edge of the kitchen sink, shaking.

"But for Sarek…you fall apart?"

"Mom. You don't understand." Amanda hisses through clenched teeth. "I've tried to get over him. I really have. I thought I'd grown up and realized it was hopeless to love a Vulcan."

"Oh, baby. You can't tell me you're still in love with him. You don't think he's done some Vulcan telepathy thing to you, has he?"

Amanda whips around at that. "You don't know what a horrendous violation of Vulcan morality that would be, Mom. He'd never do that; not to me, not to anyone. Never."

Her mother crosses her arms. "Or influenced you while you were working at the Embassy?"

"Do you think I would be this shocked if that had happened? No. He was like…a teacher to me. Kind and professional. _Always._ Don't look so doubtful."

"What I think now is that _you_ started this."

"I didn't _start_ anything. He's been a _friend_ to me, mom. No, not really even that close. More like a mentor."

"Baby…there's a world of difference between a crush and the kind of love grownups have; the kind of love that sustains a life together."

"I _know_." Amanda says irritably, then softens and puts her arms around her mother and buries her head in her mother's shoulder. "I know." She whispers.

Their embrace breaks, and mother and daughter study each other.

"Don't get me wrong: I like Sarek. He's an elegant and attractive Vulcan. But…can he offer the right life for _you_? How could you possibly be happy with him?"

"What if the right question is: how can I be happy _without_ him?"

Sarek steps into the kitchen. Robert loiters behind him in the doorway, while Sarek mores to the stove, taking a potholder and sliding the soup pot off the burner.

"My pardon. Robert is correct: burnt plomeek smells most unpleasant." He turns back to the stove and places a lid on the pot, then turns off the burner. "I believe that danger has been averted."

He turns back to Amanda's mother. "I ask your forgiveness. These," he points to his ears, "make it rather difficult not to eavesdrop."

She barks a short surprised little laugh and turns back to Amanda, who look gives her mother a wry look and raises her eyebrows.

"I would dedicate my life to ensuring Amanda's contentment."

Mrs. Grayson turns back to Sarek, crossing her arms over her generous bosom. "I see the wild horses have arrived." She glances at Robert then back at Sarek.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Enough!" Amanda shouts. "Stop talking like I'm not here. It's _my_ life!" She grabs Sarek's sleeve and roughly tows him toward the back door and outside.

Outside the back door, the yard in the late spring afternoon is green and lush; it is still cool there, shaded as it is by the island's tall cedar trees. Still holding his sleeve, Amanda leads Sarek to where the south facing side of the white clapboard two-story house reflects heat into the fenced garden. She stops, finally, by a little rustic structure: more than a potting shed but not quite as nice as a gazebo.

Sarek can tell she is angry, but is uncertain why or how to address her emotion. He decides to keep his own counsel until he has gathered more information. For a long moment she stares into space, then turns and crosses her arms in a manner not unlike her mother.

"Explain." She says with no preamble.

"Specify."

Amanda throws up her hands in frustration. "This! I come home because I'm all confused and thinking about marrying Randy, and then you show up here out of the blue at a moment's notice and-" Stops suddenly, then gasps almost as if someone had struck her in the stomach. "Oh, my God. They knew. My parents _already knew."_

"If I understand your inference, you are incorrect. Your father knew of my intensions toward you. He did not share my request with your mother. Point of fact, your mother did not know until today. Your father, however, did."

"Like I'm some kind of…chattel? An _arranged_ marriage?"

Sarek swallows. Amanda was offended in addition to being angry. This was not going well.

"As you know, Vulcan customs—"

"I'm not Vulcan!" Amanda shouts.

At Sarek's calm silence, Amanda takes a breath. Of course he won't respond in kind. Of course he won't escalate her emotional barrage. Of course he finds her statement of the obvious puzzling.

Tears slide down Amanda's face. "This was a really weird way to find out you're interested in having a relationship with me."

"I am interested in marriage." Sarek's hands clasp behind his back. "Further, this interest is specific to you. You are stating your discovery of my interest was the antithesis of the proposal you might have found desirable?"

She keeps her face turned away from Sarek, studying the lime green tendrils of growth on the rose vine she'd planted only last summer, the tiny thickenings in the growing tips that hadn't even become buds yet.

More tears slide down her face. "Indeed." She whispers ironically.

"Let us begin again, then. It was necessary that I intercept your acceptance of an alternative proposal. I submit your own position to you: that you feel complete with me; you feel whole with me. You don't know if you could be happy without me. These were your own words to your parents."

"That sounds like unrequited love, Sarek. You're making me sound pathetic."

"You know Vulcans do not have a word for love—"

"Oh, I know." Amanda rolls her eyes. "Boy, do I know."

"But we use the word _cherish_ in much the same way. I repeat to you: I would dedicate my life to ensuring your contentment." He moves slowly to Amanda, close enough to reach to her face, to touch her chin lightly and turn her face toward him. "I would dedicate my life to ensuring your contentment, Amanda Elizabeth Grayson. I cherish you. I have waited for six earth years to tell you this. I was pressured by the Vulcan High Council to take a wife, and I resisted until _you_ touched my hand. You were still a child and yet it was shan'hal'lak—the Engulfment, an ancient phrase which translates poorly in Federation Standard to 'love at first sight'. I knew then you were my _one_. I have worked during my wait completing licensing, permitting, contracts, property documents all to ensure when the proper time came you would be fully recognized…immediately…as my wife. This has never been done before, not just a relationship, but a marriage of Vulcan and human. And being human, I could not approach your people to request a bonding as I would have had you been Vulcan. I had to wait for you to become of human marriageable age, to trust in shan'hal'lak, this truth, that it would continue to guide us together."

Amanda looks down, chewing on her lip, Sarek's fingertips still on her chin. She looks up and as she does so, lightly slides her hand around Sarek's.

"I wish I'd known."

"It was not possible. Being human, you were too young."

"You _assumed_ I would agree. You should _ask_ me first."

He brushes his fingertips along her face, her hand still touching his own. "Will you marry me, Amanda?"

Her breath catches. She did not expect that he would in fact ask her instantly. "I can't. Not yet." Amanda grimaces suddenly, surprising herself that she had conceded even that much.

"This is wise. You need to finish your schooling. Further, I have promised your parents to wait—"

She presses a finger to Sarek's mouth, cutting him off. "Kiss me. If you can't…this isn't going to work."

"It is not the Vulcan way."

"I know."

Sarek looks down, then back to Amanda, for the first time looking a little vulnerable. "I…have been studying these human habits. I knew it would be necessary for your contentment."

"Try. Consider it a chemistry test."

"A test of compatibility. What are the consequences of failing?"

"Well, maybe it would be better to know sooner than later. That's what dating's for, Sarek. For couples to test these things out."

"I see. No wonder earth struggles with STDs."

"I've been tested. I'm not going to give you anything."

"Nor I you. Is this the usual communication?"

"Well…hopefully. It's a sign of pending intimacy."

"Indeed."

"You're dragging your feet."

"My feet have not moved—"

"Ahem?"

"Then teach me, so that I may be successful in this." Sarek offers stiffly.

Amanda, embarrassed by Sarek's discomfort, looks down. "Well, first, a couple might hold hands."

Sarek is visibly relieved, and his mouth twitches to one side. "You have surely observed the _ozh'esta_?" The Vulcan touching of fingers.

Amanda nods. "That works."

He gestures to the rustic bench by the little shed. "We should sit. This will not be a human experience. We do not know how you will react."

When they are knee to knee and facing each other, Sarek raises one hand, his middle and index finger extended to her.

Amanda mirrors his gesture. "Like this."

"Yes. Between two Vulcans…and between _this_ Vulcan and _this_ human…"

Amanda gasps a little as his fingertips meet hers—the sense of a _spark_.

Sarek closes his eyes, and nods to himself. "Yes. This is the connection: this is shan'hal'lak."

Amanda closes her eyes, too, losing herself in the ineffable sensation.

"This is a publicly acceptable display of connection between Vulcans, whereas kissing…would be considered sexual exhibitionism. We know we must accept such alien practices, such as Betazoid nude marriages, Orion orgies, or human…public kissing. For us, all of these things would be equally beyond Vulcan behavioral norms."

Amanda giggles and this time Sarek breathes in sharply. "Oh, that tickled you!"

"Amanda." Sarek chastises.

"I'm human. It's what I do. Get used to it."

"Assertive." He slides his fingers down the side of her hand and back and it takes Amanda's breath away.

"Vulcans at an Orion orgy. Now that's an image."

"More than an image."

"Oh, Sarek, you didn't—" Amanda's shock blossoms into a smile. "You're _teasing_ me."

"Our Ambassadorial teams quickly learned how to skirt such impositions."

" 'Quickly learned'…so someone _didn't_ manage to avoid one_." _Amanda grins. "Oh, you must tell me who."

"It occurred before the previous generation of staff. But the cautionary tale persists."

Amanda smiles and closes her eyes again, just floating in the warmth of the new sensation. "This is very nice."

"You are content?"

Amanda sticks her tongue out at Sarek. "Yes. Point to you."

"I am gratified."

"I can't hear your thoughts. Can you read mine?"

"I could, with effort, with more familiarity. As you have surmised this…is more of an emotional connection. Superficial."

"Wow. If this is superficial…"

"Indeed. Bonding or melding is a much more intense connection."

"I could read your mind, if we were bonded?"

"Unknown. Much of Vulcan training involves shielding ourselves _from_ others' emotions and thought; and controlling our own emotions. We control our emotions to achieve a peace unknown among many peoples, including humans."

"But…"

"Control. Not absence of emotions."

"Oh, Sarek. Humans would like Vulcans so much more if we understood this."

"Such empathy would only be a hindrance for us. That we are thought to lack emotion is…simpler. If others were to actively seek out our emotions it would become that much more difficult to control them. What humans think of as a figurative connection is a literal connection for us."

"You'd be trying to control the emotions of the _two_ interacting, then?"

"Yes."

"I see…" Amanda studies Sarek's face. "Why don't you just tell us? I mean, humans?"

"Pride, perhaps. After two thousand years of repressing our emotions, it is difficult to speak of something that we surround with tremendous shame."

"Sarek. I won't be ashamed of what I am. I won't be ashamed of my emotions."

"I do not ask this of you. I do not wish it. Humans walk a path that Vulcans both envy and fear: the razor's edge between emotion and control. And your people are subject to terrible, violent upheavals still: irrational individual and collective behavior."

Sarek slides his fingers along her hand again, soothing the surge of defensiveness he feels from Amanda. "There is also great energy, ambition, hope. There is tremendous innovation, incredible productivity in the arts and sciences. Vulcan has much to learn from Earth, too."

Their fingers spread and twine into a clasp. "We are stronger together."

Amanda leans forward, her cheek against the back of Sarek's hand. "Infinite diversity in infinite combination." She whispers in Shi'Kahri Vulcanir.

She looks up into his eyes and, although his expression does not change in the least, feels such a strong surge of affection from Sarek that tears fill her eyes again.

He looks around, and she follows his thought.

"Sarek. You're on an island. This is hardly a public place."

With her free hand she reaches for his face, but they both lean forward. Sarek, Vulcan Ambassador to earth, brushes his lips across Amanda Grayson's then leans his forehead against hers.

"I do not know what I am doing." He whispers.

"It was…nice. Don't ever stop trying."

He tries again, more confidently, and proves to be a very fast learner indeed. It is logical that he understand how to competently serve her in this way. He begins to find it…acceptable; then, most…acceptable.

Amanda feels a deep tension, a deep almost bubbling feeling. "Oh, no, oh no…"

Her hand tightens around Sarek's and she almost convulses into him, her eyes rolling up slightly. "Oh…oh…"

Sarek is almost blinded by an unexpected explosion of exquisite golden energy, drowning—he swims through it, surfaces, but for a moment he is lost in his own fear and confusion—"Amanda! Are you well?" He grasps her shoulders, fearing he had somehow broken her. "Amanda!"

She leans into him panting, but unafraid.

What just happened? A convulsion?

She giggles, and relaxes onto his chest with a sigh. "Sorry. Well, not really."

Sarek has read of this, has heard rumors of this…_aptitude_ of humans, of human females. It is something that drives Orion slavers to offer exorbitant rates for their illegal purchase and sale. He had assumed the aptitude was rare, or exaggerated, the carnival hype typical of Orion merchants.

"…probably because I've wanted to kiss you so badly for so long…" Amanda sighs in an unasked for explanation.

Had they been bonded and she reacted in such a way…!

It was most alarming. She clearly saw her reaction as desirable and unsurprising—even humorous! Perhaps the rumors of the addictive quality of humans contained a seed of truth.

Sarek swallows. "Your test of compatibility…?"

"Passed." Amanda breathes out in in a contented sigh. "Oh, passed. I must have died and gone to heaven…"

She does not say his name, but he can sense her thinking it, coloring his name with the same kind of amazement and relief he shares but only admits to himself with great effort. He circles his arms around Amanda, protectively, leaning his chin on her head, deep in thought.

A/N: Thanks again to the VLD, Vulcan Language Dictionary for shan'hal'lak. Just skimming it is a source of inspiration. Regarding the previous chapter: I don't recall whose story first described plomeek as a staining purple root—please let me know and I will give credit. I loved it!


	10. Ch 10 Amanda's Story: Third Interlude

Amanda's Story: Third Interlude

Fireside/Amanda's POV

A/N: Tah-dah! All moved from Grandfather's House. Your reward is below: a new chapter! Thank you for your patience, dear readers.

"I regret, Sarek, if I've told too much." Grace apologizes. While she had left off Amanda's story at leaving the house for the garden, tagging on only Amanda's comment about feeling she'd died and gone to heaven when she'd kissed Sarek for the first time, she wanted to make sure she wasn't offending Sarek.

"Kai'idth." Sarek replies quietly. "Another point of fact: I was not innocent regarding kissing. Such behavior falls within the Vulcan repertoire of intimate expression. Rather, I had never before performed the activity outside my species and outside of being bonded."

"I never saw you practice it." Spock says coolly.

"Such activities are private among…" Sarek hesitates as he studies his son, "among most Vulcans. A Vulcan husband is honor bound to attend to his wife's contentment. In your mother's case…the success of our marriage required we both move beyond our cultural expectations and biases."

"I witnessed little evidence of compromise on your part."

Uhura reaches up and just touches Spock's face and he turns to her. She gives a shake of her head. "Don't. Not now."

Sarek stares into the fire. "Spock is correct. As time passed I became neglectful, reverting to Vulcan habits." Sarek leans forward, his elbows on his thighs, steepling his hands and staring into the space between his fingers. Regret, as illogical as it might be, was plain on his face.

Robert, from his chair beside Sarek and without turning, reaches out and touches Sarek's arm. "My daughter always felt loved, Sarek. She had no regrets."

"It was never easy. From the beginning we constantly struggled to find balance." He sighs softly. "She was very determined, very strong." His voice softens even more. "Very committed."

Although the initiation of their courtship had begun precipitously, abruptly, their courtship had not rushed forward. He had returned to his work at the Embassy, as she had returned to the University and her friendships there. That summer Amanda had returned, as usual, to her internship at the Embassy.

With one difference: on her arrival, her first day or work the following summer, he had waited for her on the Embassy's front steps. She had smiled in surprise as she looked up at him.

"Hey, there."

"Follow my lead." He had said softly to her, extending two fingers to her, and she touched her own to his, curious and more than a little embarrassed to be making such a show.

"Attend." He straightened, and with his fierce Vulcan dignity fully in place, had escorted her—fingers still touching-into the Embassy. He had not had to repeat the performance. His staff had gotten his point.

Without another word from him they had revised Amanda's schedule: adding more detailed training on Embassy protocol and policies, and sessions with their Healers on aspects of Vulcan physiology not normally shared with off-worlders.

She had stormed into his office after one particular session.

"Seven _years? Years?!" _Her eyes had flashed with disbelief. "No. No, I can't do that." She had slashed with her hand. "I'm young. I'm healthy. You can't do this to me. This is a game changer. You surely can't expect me-I'm _not that kind of a person_! No!"

He had risen from his desk, then secured the door to his office and had her in his arms before her last 'no' had finished echoing down the corridor.

"Amanda. Calm yourself. What Vulcans must do…does not limit what we _can_ do."

"Oh, yeah? _Prove_ it."

"As you wish."

They had both left his office that day…rather disheveled. It had taken some time for the scandalized looks and the quiet gossip of his staff to settle down. But his point had been made; her uncertainty eliminated.

She was quite inclined to laugh at odd times.

Addictive indeed.

This memory he chose to cherish privately.

She had also gotten the promised ride on his hover bike that summer. This story perhaps he could field.

"Did she speak to you of our first hover-bike ride, Grace?"

Grace leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. "I think you could tell that story better than I, Sarek."

"There is little to tell. I honored a commitment." He considered the memory from his perspective and Amanda's, then begins:

Amanda leans back in her chair at the end of a very long day. She is accustomed to long days and hard work at the Embassy, but for some reason this year it seems more intense than ever. And the staff's attitude toward her has shifted noticeably: from tolerance or amusement to deferential. She wasn't sure she liked it. It made her feel more mischievous than ever.

"You are restless."

She looks up to see Sarek standing at the entrance to her cubicle, studying her. She wonders if her lack of productivity at her work station had somehow caused a notification to be sent to him.

"Sorry. I guess so. It's just…you know, it's summer."

"I am at a loss as to the meaning of your inference."

Amanda rolls her eyes. "I'd rather be outside playing!"

"Ah." He looks down at his clasped hands, thinking, then back at her. "Be at my office in one hour."

That he had just extended her work day frustrated Amanda, but she turned back to her monitor with a growl. "Yes, sir."

Fully expecting to be chewed out in a logical and patient way for her loss of efficiency, she arrives at Sarek's office in precisely one hour.

Sarek stands and holds his hand out toward the chair facing his desk. "For you. I had this delivered."

Puzzled, Amanda stepped forward and opened the shopping bag waiting there. "Riding gear?" She pulled the expensive, protective cat suit from the shopping bag and held it up. "Oh, Sarek…this is top of the line."

"Do you find it satisfactory?"

"It's gorgeous!" She holds it up to herself, measuring it against her limbs and sliding the slick fabric sensuously through her hands. It is difficult for Sarek to suppress his pleasure at her delight.

"My hover-bike is in the Embassy garage. I have spent the last hour ensuring its safe operation, should you care to—"

Amanda strides to Sarek, putting her hands on his chest to balance as she rises onto the tips of her toes. She kisses him on the cheek and steps back. "Yeah. I'm that happy. Let's go."

He lowers his hand from his cheek, from where she had kissed him, startled…and yet, pleased.

Evening was not the safest time for operating a hover-bike, Sarek was aware of this, but the trade-off was anonymity. They slip away from Sarek's security detail and quickly merged onto the interstate system, heading toward the low coastal mountains to the south.

Amanda tightens her grip around Sarek's waist, leaning into him. He had always found riding his hover-bike most satisfactory. The warm press of Amanda's body against his…only served to enhance the experience.

It was not yet dark, the dusk was deep and the low coastal clouds on the western horizon hovered low and purple in the burnt orange glow of the late twilight sky. Behind them the bay area cities flung their gyre of light around the glossy dark finger of the bay.

For a while she thinks he might be taking her to Salinas, but soon they are winding through the streets of Santa Cruz. Sarek pulls to a stop by the historic boardwalk. The summer evening is still and warm, and gentle waves rush up the wide sandy beach.

Amanda dismounts. When she removes her helmet and look up at Sarek, he is staring down at her with undisguised possessiveness.

"I thought this location might meet with your approval."

"Indeed it does." Amanda smiles. "Shall we walk?"

And they did, in their sleek black biking gear, along the shore, side by side into the darkness.

Uhura laughs a little. "Into the darkness. That sounds a little foreboding."

"As it should." Grace adds quickly.

"I don't understand."

Robbie and Chris exchange a look.

Chris adds quietly, "Do you recall the 'Remembering Surak' Historic Arts crisis?"

"Years ago, sure. The Federation almost went to war with Andor over it. Ironically enough, it was part of a peace program exchange, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Grace nods. "The collection disappeared en route."

"Wasn't the exhibit stolen by Orion pirates or something?"

"Indeed." Sarek nods.

"Well, not long after that hover-bike ride, Amanda played a key role in its repatriation."


	11. Ch 11 Amanda's Story: Special Assignment

Amanda's Story: Special Assignment

Amanda's POV

"Dad!" I shoot to my feet. Dad has worked closely with the Vulcan Embassy for much of his career, but I still feel a little blindsided to see him here dressed in his full formal Star Fleet uniform. Obviously, we don't usually run in the same circles.

"Mornin', kiddo." He takes my hand and bends to kiss me on the forehead.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other translators exchange looks, interested in our human customs and the words we use as greetings.

"Can you walk with me, Amanda?"

My translation department supervisor Shem stands, and wordlessly gestures his concession with a wave of his hand and a little bow.

Dad strides directly for Sarek's office, and I realize he knows his way around the Embassy as well as I do. I glance over my shoulder, and one of the ninja-black dressed security guards is tailing us. Normal protocol, but it creeps me out a little. Something must be up.

I trail Dad into Sarek's office, standing a little back. I'm intimidated by Dad's intense focus, and Sarek must sense it because he immediately stands.

Without turning, Dad gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. "Get rid of him."

Sarek nods to the guard, who posts himself just outside the door. He presses controls on his desk, closing the door, and then there is a soft chime. "The room is secured, Admiral. You may speak freely."

"Ambassador Somek is dead."

Sarek pauses for only a beat before responding. "Explain."

"The Andorians are claiming he committed suicide-"

"Preposterous!"

"They claim they intercepted him in the midst of selling the art that was in transit for the peace mission to Andor."

Sarek's face does not change, but his fingertips come to rest on his desk. "The collection of Surak's artifacts?"

"Intel is suggesting Ferenghi traders or Orion pirates are responsible."

Sarek slowly sinks into his chair. "Somek is not the only loss of personnel. The crew of the transport would have defended the artifacts with their lives."

"I'm sorry to say you're correct. No one on the Vulcan transport survived."

"It is unlikely the Ferenghi attacked so violently. They would have seen hostages as potentially profitable." Sarek is silent for a moment. "You are here to explain the Federation's position."

"The Federation Council is communicating with the Vulcan High Council now. But I've been asked to communicate with you personally, to assure you Star Fleet has made this situation a top priority and our Intelligence Operatives have been fully deployed. We are attempting to keep the situation under wraps."

For the first time Sarek's eyes turn to me, a question. My father gestures for me to come forward. He puts his arm around my shoulders.

"Baby…Andoria's Ambassador Shras has messaged me. Because of the crisis, he's being recalled to Andor. He called me looking for a tutor for his children for the trip home. I'm afraid I bragged about you in front of him a while back. I should have known better. We think he is looking for a secure contact. Someone under the radar."

Sarek stands abruptly, his sudden motion rolling his chair loudly against the wall. "What you are suggesting is extremely dangerous."

Dad doesn't look at Sarek. "Ambassador Shras said it would be for two months."

"Shras _cannot_ be trusted." Sarek objects.

"It might gain us the lead we need to locate the collection. _Surak's_ artifacts. Or nothing but two months on a junket to Andor tutoring kids." Dad turns to Sarek. "Ambassador Shras may not like Vulcan much but he trusts me and he's never let me down. He swore on his own children's heads he'd keep Amanda safe."

"Admiral, I must suggest that Star Fleet Intel surely has more appropriate operatives trained for such—"

"I'll do it. Dad, I'll do it."

My Dad slides his hands over my shoulders, and glances apologetically at Sarek. Sarek doesn't hide his dismay from either of us. Dad's mouth twitches a little, but he swallows something back. "I expected this was something you two should discuss."

Dad steps away from me and, squaring his shoulders, turns into an Admiral again.

"Sarek. Watch your back. The trajectory of the craft transporting the exhibit was highly confidential. One thing we're sure of: the data was leaked from an _inside_ source: a _Vulcan_ source."

Dad raises his hand in the ta'al then turns to go with no hesitation in his stride, knowing Sarek would release the lock on the door before he got there. The guard outside hesitates for a split second, glances at me, then chooses to follow my father.

"Amanda—"

"Don't."

"You cannot be dissuaded?" His concern is palpable, the crease between his eyebrows deep.

"Tutoring _children_, Sarek."

"Shras's children, and in the midst of a diplomatic crisis. Potentially a courier, a spy regarding a theft clearly meant to destabilize the already tenuous peace between Vulcan and Andor, and to strike at the very heart of Vulcan."

"Or maybe someone just thought they saw a way to make a killing." I cringe, remembering Ambassador Somek and the crew of the Vulcan transport. "I'm sorry. I meant 'to make a lot of money'."

Sarek takes a breath. "Your counsel is wise. It is possible. I may have 'jumped to a conclusion'as you say. It is logical to withhold judgment until more data is available. "

I hold my hands out to Sarek, and he comes to me and lightly places his hands on mine. "I'll be fine. Dad wouldn't suggest it unless he thought the risk was reasonable."

"I will count each second until your safe return."

Sarek lifts a hand and strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers, then places his hand back on my upheld palm. "I ask only this: think on this tonight. Consider the danger. Consider that…our life together has not even begun."

"I won't go out of my way to do anything dangerous, Sarek."

"You may not need to. Danger could seek out you."

"Why, Sarek, I think you just may care for me."

"I am serious. You are being flippant."

I squeeze my fingers around Sarek's hands. "I'm serious, too. If this could help repatriate Surak's things-"

"Artifacts."

"…isn't it worth a little risk?"

"A very little risk. Even for Surak's artifacts."

"I'll be okay. Promise."

"Such a promise is worthless. It is made to grant reassurance where there is no data and therefore no logical justification for it."

"You're _angry_ with me!"

"Deeply concerned."

"Huh!"

"Is that repartee?"

"Sarcasm is beneath you, Sarek."

"Would you prefer that I call a fool's errand what it is?"

Now, _I'm _angry, and I pull away from Sarek's hands. "You've just managed to insult me _and_ my father." I whirl around and storm out of Sarek's office.

At the end of the day, I pack up my desk and let Shem know I don't expect to be back.

I don't head up to Sarek's office like usual for a chat and end of the day chess game. I'm too angry, still, to say goodbye.

As I head down the steps of the Embassy-past the little cluster of my coworkers and their confused farewells-and into the afternoon heat, I pull out my Comm and page Dad.


	12. Ch 12 Meeting Ambassador Shras

Meeting the Andorian Ambassador

Amanda's POV

The Andorian wing of the Metropolitan Museum of XenoArts is very dark and cold and humid. I wander from exhibit to exhibit as I wait for Ambassador Shras, and linger before a display of art glass. In appearance, I'm interviewing for a position tutoring his children in Standard on their two month trip returning to Andor. In reality, I'm being placed as a mole for Federation Intelligence.

The damp glass, subtly lit from within, smolders orange in the dark ultramarine blue of the rooms. I think of subterranean lava, flowing through Andor's vast ice sheets, their age of glaciers still fully enveloping that world.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

Although I have an appointment to meet the Ambassador here, I still jump at his sudden appearance; the queer sheen of his blue skin and fleshy antennae. His careful intonation grates against my ear, the phonemes of Standard a struggle for his alien physiology to produce.

"Ambassador Shras!"

"Yes, you are as lovely as Admiral Greyson described." Shras breaks into a surprisingly charming smile, and holds his hand out to me. I take it, and it is as cold and limp as a fish.

"Well, I believe my father may be biased." I smile warmly into the ambassador's friendly eyes. He has the slight build of his people—he is no taller than me—but he stands with a wiry tension. I suspect he is stronger than he appears.

I give my best shot at the Andorian phrase for introduction: _May our energy waves harmonize._

Shras gives a breathy chuckle, and continues in Standard. "Well done. If you are interested, I'm sure my girls will be happy to teach you more of our language. I was under the impression that you…are specializing in Vulcan?"

I'm not sure that I like the glint he has in his eyes as he says this: it seems a little _too_ knowing.

One thing I've learned from working at the Vulcan Embassy is how to keep a good poker face. "As a student of xenolinguistics, I've been grateful for the internship offered to me at the Vulcan Embassy. As you know, my father has been a Star Fleet liaison to Vulcan for most of his career. It is logical that I would have connections there."

Shras' face loses expression. "Logical. Well. I see."

I break into a laugh. "You may be right. I might have been spending too much time there."

He clearly warms up again. "Despite the ice of our planet, you will find us a _warmer_ race than the Vulcans." He turns to walk through the exhibit and I fall into place beside him. "Yes. Passion. Love. Things Vulcans gave up long ago, you know. They denigrate the very emotions that give life meaning."

"I find them quite…serene, Ambassador."

Shras' mouth twitches and he glances at me, clearly amused. "Yes. Well, you are very young. Vulcans can be as stubborn as Tellarites. As cunning as the Ferenghi. As ruthless as Klingons."

"I'm afraid," I counter, "that both our people can be accused of such inclinations as well."

"Indeed." Shras says so Vulcan levelly that I glance at him. He is teasing me, and I chuckle.

"I admire Surak's precepts. I admire how Vulcan society succeeded at changing, and became peaceful and non-violent. I'd like to help integrate more of Surak's philosophy into human society."

"Ah. So you are a revolutionary."

"A _teacher_."

"The best are one and the same." He turns to me. "So Amanda Greyson of Earth, Admiral's daughter, student of xenolinguistics, future teacher, lover of the Vulcan Ambassador—"

"—_Ambassador Shras!" _I protest, feeling the color leave my face. How could he know?

Shras turns to me. "Have I said anything untrue?"

I swallow and speak levelly. "One item is privileged information."

Shras turns to me. "Good. You did not lie to me and deny it. I will not entrust my children to someone I cannot trust." He takes my hand, and his antennae lengthen, searching. "Amanda Greyson, I would like to offer you a position tutoring my children in Standard. The return to Andor is not a short voyage, and my children may as well make good use of the time. I understand Admiral Greyson has shared the details of the tutoring position with you already. You will be returned to Earth upon our arrival at Andor."

"I would be most pleased to accept this opportunity."

He nods, studying me.

I swallow, holding down my anger at Dad, the only possible source… "Did my father tell you…?"

Shras breaks into a breathy laugh, and gasps in amusement. "I only guessed!"

I can feel my face heat up, turning red with embarrassment. I'm a naïve child indeed to have been so easily manipulated.

Shras leans close to me. "You are not the only alien student of Surak, Miss Greyson." He gives me a conspiratorial smile, and adds more seriously, "But there are spies everywhere, including the Vulcan Embassy. Caution is always advisable."

He turns again, and we walk in silence admiring more glasswork.

"If your father knows of your relationship with Ambassador Sarek…" Shras muses, and stops dead in his tracks. He turns to look at me with wonder. "That Vulcan has asked you to marry him."

This time I'm not so stupid as to answer, but of course my silence is just as much of a confirmation.

Shras shakes his head, amazed. "I suppose it's somehow logical, since he is, after all, the third generation of his family to hold Ambassadorship to Earth. Oh…lovely girl…" I see tears rise in his eyes. "Don't be a political hostage. What a waste of your warm human heart, your young passions."

"Ambassador Shras." I smile reassuringly, looking into his eyes. "I have no need for your pity."

The Andorian Ambassador's head tilts to one side, his antennae lengthening in surprise, even if his face doesn't change. "I shall have to re-evaluate my opinion of Ambassador Sarek."

The glasswork before us looks like carved ice: blue streamers weave and twist around one another like a dance frozen mid-motion; untouching and graceful.

"I love him." I murmur, looking at the glass.

Shras turns toward me, bemused and arching an eyebrow in skepticism.

I nod to myself. And I realize I feel…loved. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I need to return to the Vulcan Embassy." To say 'yes' to someone there.

Shras' mouth twitches. "I shall forward your transport papers to your father. To avoid any appearance of impropriety, I shall also send a secure copy to…your fiancé. Jealous Vulcans…are not a pretty sight."

I give the Andorian Ambassador a double take. But I don't have time to ask Shras to explain. I need to talk to Sarek.


	13. Ch 13 Senior Technician Shem

Senior Technician Shem

Linguistics Division, Vulcan Embassy

San Francisco, Earth

The morning following the resignation of our human intern, the change in the atmosphere of the Translation Division is palpable.

T'Xen is the first to address me.

"She was…angry?"

"Yes." I nod. The young staff depend on my experience to explain such human outbursts.

"She has removed her personal effects. That would indicate an intention not to return."

"Indeed."

"The children will note her absence."

"Perhaps she will meditate on the illogic of her actions."

I clasp my hands behind my back. "Unlikely. It is not the human way."

T'Xen and nearby, Shon at his desk, look down. "Unfortunate."

"Return to your labors." I chide gently. This is most excellent progress: my staff formed a connection with this human. This is the closest my youthful technicians have worked with one, and their sense of loss at her absence is a sign of their adaptability and effectiveness in their chosen profession.

Of course, I too have adapted to her. Our department seems too quiet to me: diminished without Miss Greyson's bright greeting of "Good morning!" to each of us; the flowers on her desk and delivered to T'Xen; her earpiece playing raucous earth music loudly enough to entertain us all, her toe softly tapping in time to her music; the strange earth fruits and she brings for us to sample.

I am not surprised at the end of the day to be contacted by the Junior Ambassador.

"Intern Greyson is not answering my notifications."

"Her mode of departure yesterday demonstrated no intent to return, Osu Sarek."

The comlink abruptly terminates. I am surprised, however, when the Junior Ambassador arrives in my department moments later. He hesitates in the doorway, and then strides to Intern Greyson's empty desk.

He stares silently at her empty desk, and then rests his fingertips on the edge of it for moment, tapping them a few times. I look away from the emotional display and busy myself otherwise. But after a moment I hear him opening the drawers of her desk and searching through them.

He strides to me. "Teacher Shem." I can see he is biting back an interrogation. He knows that I would offer any information I have.

"Should I be contacted, Osu Sarek," I offer delicately, averting my eyes, "I will advise you immediately."

He hesitates. "Any advice…"

I bow. "…will be freely offered."

He turns on his heel and strides away, but toward the Embassy garage, not his office. After a moment, I hear his hover-bike exit at a speed likely exceeding the posted maximum. I suppress the amusement that rises and find my hand falling on the antique volume of Shakespearean plays on the corner of my desk. I look out on my small staff and see they are all carefully keeping their heads down and looking most occupied.

"Osu Sarek is…most courageous, do you not agree?"

A wave of relief washes through my staff and they relax. Kai'idth. There is no logic in pretending the Junior Ambassador is not struggling with his assignment.

"Truly. A daunting task to accept." Shon carefully admits. "Marriage to a human…"

T'Xen's eyes slide to one side. "And yet, this one, Miss Greyson…"

"Yes. Her katra is very bright." I tap my fingers on the red canvas binding of the old book. "We should be honored. We are witnesses to history in the making."


	14. Ch 14 Tellarite Trouble

Tellarite Trouble

Sarek's POV

I pull my hover-bike into the rest area beside the Golden Gate Bridge, feeling no more calm than when I left the Embassy. I remove my helmet, lock it to my vehicle and stride out to the overlook. High above on the great cables the permanent crew of maintenance workers apply protective coating in their unending battle against the climate.

Soon our Vulcan robotic technology will bring an end to that traditional and dangerous task.

The bitterly cold, damp wind stings my ears and disorganizes my hair. I attempt to ignore the frigid and alien distraction to meditate on the vista before me: the violent intersection of ocean and continent, water and land, the graceful arch of the bridge uniting both.

I question whether I truly have the capacity for this marriage. We are too alien to each other. It is untenable. I cannot bear this: to be _left,_ to be left in doubt. We are not bonded. I cannot know her mind. I have offended Amanda, I understand this, and yet I spoke from logical _concern._ Her reaction to my criticism was most excessive. Most illogical.

If I fail to make Amanda Greyson my wife…the Council is prepared to quickly arrange for another alliance. I do not wish this. Indeed I am revolted by the prospect.

Revolted. Fascinating. A most…emotional response. I sense a dull ache in my side, another sign of excessive anxiety.

I take a calming breath.

I tap my Comm. "Amanda Greyson."

"_Unavailable."_

I close my eyes and see her desk, cleared of its usual human clutter, its water-glass of dying vegetation. No message. Nothing. I speculate whether her reaction indicates a severance of our relationship. In my own frustration I delayed too long, and perhaps missed my last opportunity to…

To what? To tell her I cannot bear her rejection? That I did not intend to insult her or her father?

I may not have intended insult, but it was logical—even necessary-to question their judgment.

Worse…worse. What if she accepts Shras' offer and comes to harm? She is ignorant of the dangerous predations of the Orion Syndicate in Andor's quadrant.

It was a mistake for me to allow Amanda to leave the Embassy without ensuring there was peace between us.

I tap my Comm again. "Amanda Greyson."

"_Unavailable."_

I suppress a fleeting urge to throw the useless communication device into the bay.

I resolve that we must marry, and soon. I cannot tolerate this uncertainty. I will have no other; I will make this troublesome, exasperating…most cherished woman mine. We will bond and I will know that she is well and that I am hers.

I reach for my Comm once again, and it tones twice. I answer tersely, "Sarek."

I half expect Amanda's voice.

"Ambassador Sarek, you Vulcan bastard. I need you NOW."

Gav. I recognize the Tellarite Ambassador's deep and strident voice.

"Ambassador Gav. How may I assist you?"

"My transport is ready. We leave for Coridan now. I am sick of Federation bureaucrats holding Tellar to unfair and higher standards than Andor!"

"You speak of Coridian dilithium?"

"Do you think I am stupid? Of course!"

I realize, with Ambassador Somek's death, oversight of the Federation's distribution of Coridian dilithium will, of necessity, fall to me.

"Ambassador Gav, I have personal business requiring my immediate—"

"Don't dissemble with me, Vulcan! If you join me in my shuttle now, we will not miss the Coridan Senate rule making. Your staff said you were out on your hoverbike. It should take you only minutes to get to my hangar at SFO."

The Coridan negotiations are critical to Federation security and to Vulcan's trade based economy. It appears I have little choice but to comply. It is my duty to first serve the needs of the many.

"You are an impertinent gor-hog, Gav." I know a series of insults will reassure the Tellarite. "You have even less intelligence. I will however comply."

I abruptly cut contact with the Ambassador Gav, and strap on my helmet. I realize I am breathing out oddly in the way Amanda calls a sigh. Perhaps I have learned this human habit from her. It seems somehow appropriate for the circumstances.

I mount my hoverbike and head toward the private hangars at SFO.


	15. Ch 15 Amanda's Story: Backtracking

Backtracking

Amanda's POV

I'm running up the back steps of the Embassy when T'Lel cuts me off.

"I understand you are no longer an employee of the Embassy?"

"Is…that what Shem told you?"

"I believe I posed _you _a question, Miss Greyson."

I get a grip on my fear of the administrator and straighten. "I have been offered a position working for Ambassador Shras. I've accepted it."

She studies me for a moment. "Come."

I really have little choice but to follow her, and we wind through the Embassy to a small office.

T'Lel seats herself and turns to me. "Be seated."

I'm not accustomed to being treated with such terseness, but I can see how I may have created offense.

"You signed a contract of employment. Please confirm."

"Ah…er...Yes?"

"You removed your unapproved personal materials from your workspace."

"Unapproved? Oh. Well, I…did. Yes."

"You indicated to your coworkers, via a brief 'farewell' ritual that you did not intend to return."

"Well…"

"Your departure from the Embassy lacked subtlety."

I remain silent. I've already proven to myself how easily I can be manipulated.

"I will change your status to 'leave of temporary duration.'" Documents flash at lightning speed across T'Lel's activated screen.

"Explain."

"As an employee on leave, you remain under the official protection of the Vulcan Government." She raises an eyebrow. "And you are also answerable to us should you attempt to take actions on Vulcan's behalf."

"I expect to be teaching two Andorian children. How is this any business of Vulcan?"

"Do not dissemble with me, Miss Greyson. Ambassador Sarek has briefed me on Admiral Greyson's plan."

"Nothing may come of it."

There is a tense silence between us and I'm even more certain T'Lel is, in her restrained Vulcan way, _angry_ with me.

I switch to Vulcan Standard and try to be placating. _"Honorable T'Lel. Forgive my offense."_

She shoots to her feet. As she strides smoothly by she says in Vulcan Standard, "Follow."

This time I know where she's leading me, and it's directly to Sarek's office. I don't know whether to be relieved or nervous. When we get there I rush past T'Lel, but his office is empty. I turn to T'Lel and see her palm the lock to his door.

"As you see, the Junior Ambassador is no longer present at the Embassy. I do not know when he will return." T'Lel's chin lifts. "Why did you return?"

I remain silent, a little afraid and wondering about her motivation. "Why do you want to know?"

"You answer a question with a question. So human." She marches so close that she is on the very edge of intruding into my personal space. She studies me in a thoroughly Vulcan way: coldly, deeply curious, evaluating.

"T'Lel. We are in private." I take a breath, needing to know this. "Did the Embassy direct Sarek to…marry a human?"

Her eyes narrow and one eyebrow shoots up. "Is this why you left today?"

"Answering a question with a question." I note levelly. "You learn quickly."

T'Lel waits.

"I was offended that Sarek called my father's proposal a fool's errand."

T'Lel breathes out slowly. "I…see."

She strides to the window stares out for a long moment. Without turning she speaks softly. "Not long after you left, the Ambassador left on his hoverbike." She turns to face me from across the room. "I believe he feared you would not return to him. You have unsettled his logic."

I have to struggle not to laugh at the seriousness of her expression as she says it. 'Unsettled': to me, to a human, it seems so little, and she's so terribly…concerned. I cough a little to cover the laughter bubbling up in me. I suspect it's mostly nerves and thinking of the severe administrator as sweet.

So far, this conversation has seemed quid pro quo. "I returned because I wanted to tell Sarek I love him." It's the truth, if not all of it.

A furrow grows between T'Lel's eyebrows. "The Embassy did not direct Ambassador Sarek to marry a human." I'm almost relieved, but she continues. "The High Council did so."

I swallow, not really surprised, but heartsick and fighting disappointment. His relationship with me is a diplomatic request of the High Council? A strategy? Should it surprise me that Sarek's motivation is based on logic and duty?

"I see." I close my eyes, reminding myself how right it felt when he touched my hand in our garden at home; how I'd sensed deep attachment…his _affection._ It had felt genuine, not contrived or artificial.

"I would give my life to protect the Ambassador. There are many indeed who would offer the same. You…cannot appreciate his position in our society." I see fire rise in T'Lel's eyes for a flash, before it's quickly controlled. She speaks with complete calm. "He has chosen you. He risked his life for you. He weathered _plak tow…_ for _you._ And you demonstrate your love for him by unsettling his logic?"

Plak tow? I'm shocked to hear those private words coming from her, but…it suddenly strikes home that I have known him for more than seven years, and Sarek said he had _waited_ for me. I recall what the healers told me about that painful part of their reproductive cycle: a highly secret and mortifying time when their logic is ripped from them. I'd taken it as textbook information, not really considering how every one of them must face it. To think of Sarek choosing to take on that suffering! And to do so to prevent bonding with another; in order to wait…_for me_.

I take a sharp breath. "I'm _sorry_."

She nods once. "Your apology belongs to Ambassador Sarek, not to me." She turns on her heel and walks away from me to the doorway. She palms off the lock to the office and strides from the room.

She brushes past Shem, who is standing calmly outside the door as if it were a place he ordinarily could be found.

The elderly linguist walks past me to Sarek's replicator, and brings me a cup of sweetened tea.

"I found a surplus _Federation Standard to Andorian_ dictionary in our archives, Miss Greyson. I would be honored if you would accept it."

"Thank you, Teacher Shem." I say in a small voice, still shaken.

"I have heard" he continues gently, "that Ambassador Gav has enticed Ambassador Sarek to accompany him to Coridan's Senate negotiations. The dilithium apportionment negotiations are extremely important to the Federation and to keeping peace with Orion, you know."

"He's…left Earth?"

"We are most fortunate to be honored by Ambassador Sarek's selfless service." Shem holds my gaze, reminding me gently to see the logic in Sarek's choice. "With Ambassador Somek's death…"

"Ah. I see." Tears burn in my eyes. What a mess. Of course Sarek will be called to take on Somek's work. Who knows when I will see Sarek again? I was so careless.

"Before we leave to get your dictionary, you intended to leave a…'note' for the Ambassador, did you not?"

"Yes. Sure. Yes." I set the tea cup down and rummage through Sarek's desk for a notepad. Shem's right: a handwritten note would be more personal. I find a scrap of film and scribble a quick apology on it, and tuck it in the top drawer of Sarek's desk. I smile gratefully at Shem for his kindness. "Thank you."

He bows and gestures gracefully to the doorway. "After you, my lady."


	16. Ch 16 Coridan Stop-over

Coridan Stop Over

Shras' POV

A/N: Jumping forward a bit-this fits with Valentine's Day...

My wife bends over our youngest child, then looks up at the young human teacher with a teasing smile.

"I would much rather stay with my baby, Miss Amanda."

Elell hands the baby to me, and goes to the hotel suite's wardrobe. After rummaging for a moment, she emerges with one of her dancing gowns.

The human girl gasps in pleasure. "Oh…I _couldn't…"_

"Don't be foolish. It is made to be worn, to be _danced._ Besides, it would fit a human better. I never had it taken in as I should have, since I felt it a pity to damage the lace." Elell sighs. "And I loved the color so." My wife gives the full skirting a fluff and the rich dark sapphire of the fabric sparkles with silver metallic threads, the shadows a moiré of deep maroons. Her eyes narrow in mischief. "And your generous human décolletage will be a useful tool for my husband."

I bow to let my antennae brush my wife's in affection. So cunning, is my beloved. "Oh, yes. It will be a lesson in diplomacy for your future life, Miss Amanda."

The human just sighs, fingering the beautiful fabric.

"Unfortunately, we may have to replicate shoes for you, my dear." Ellel adds. "I'm afraid our similarities in physiology do not extend that far."

After a dull afternoon discussing the tedious terms of the revised dilithium distribution schedule for the coming standard biennium, I'm relieved to move to the more informal ballroom venue. This is where Coridan's real business has an opportunity to happen.

I work the room quickly before Ambassador Sovak manages to corner me. The elderly Vulcan towers over me and I know it is no accident that he is trying to use this advantage to intimidate me. Fortunately, I am not easily frightened.

I offer a cup of punch to the Vulcan who of course declines. "I regret the loss of Surak's artifacts as highly as you do, Ambassador Sovak."

"Illogical. You cannot know my thoughts. Furthermore, I do not _regret. _ As a Vulcan, I simply _value _highly that which cannot be replaced. Vulcan entrusted your government with a priceless collection of Surak's artifacts. That trust has been betrayed."

"_Betrayal_ suggests intent, does it not, Sovak?" I sip the sour Coridan punch delicately.

"The fact is that, in addition to the murder of Ambassador Somek, the artifacts have been lost."

I notice the Junior Ambassador to Earth standing deferentially behind Sovak's shoulder.

I put my cup down hard on the buffet table, spilling its contents. "Murder? Who do you accuse of this?"

Somek stands silently, watching me. There is no evidence for this accusation. Is this a ruse?

"Perhaps Andor would more actively investigate the details of the incident, Ambassador Shras, if additional motivation were applied."

I straighten to my full if relatively diminutive height. "Do you _threaten_ me, Vulcan?"

Fortunately, this is the moment my children's tutor arrives, and she is in full splendor in my wife's gown. I choke down my outrage and paste a broad smile on my face and extend my hand.

My wife is full partner in my trickery; she has styled the teacher's hair in an elegant Vulcan-like up-do, complete with a Shi'Kahri-style ribbon only worn by _available _females. The teacher has wisely left her elegant long neck unadorned with jewelry. For Vulcans, so much bare flesh would be a significant tease.

"Gentlemen, do meet my…escort." I hold a hand out.

Miss Greyson comes straight to me with a smile, and I am impressed by her discipline. Her eyes don't dart toward Sarek even once. I take her hand and Amanda gives me a deep curtsey, flaring and displaying the sapphire skirting; and framing the fine ivory contrast of her décolletage. The sleeveless bodice of the gown chris-crosses over her bosom in rich gathers, leaving her graceful neck and shoulders exposed. This is nothing remarkable for either humans or Andorians, but a scandalous degree of exposure for Vulcans.

I intentionally run my fingers down her neck. Her smile falters, and out of the corner of my eye I observe Sarek's hands tightening into fists before he places his hands behind his back.

"Well, Miss Greyson. Don't you look lovely tonight." I offer my arm and she takes it.

"Thank you, Ambassador Shras."

"Miss Amanda Greyson is the daughter of Star Fleet's Admiral Greyson."

She bows her head demurely to Ambassador Sovak and says something that sounds deferential in Vulcan Standard, but he barely spares her a glance before returning his attention to me. "Andor's insouciance will not be forgotten."

My mouth twitches. "Ah, nor will the irony of Vulcan threats received over…I believe it was a _peace _exchange?"

Sovak coldly stares back at me, uncomprehending, but behind him Sarek raises his eyebrows slightly and looks to one side. I turn and escort Miss Greyson away from the Vulcans, my hand on the small of her back. I feel a small pang of guilt at intentionally tormenting her fiancé when he, at least, appears capable of understanding such a shamelessly emotional creature as myself.

Given that I have my wife's permission, I allow myself to enjoy the voluptuous young teacher's company. I suppose I could be forgiven for congratulating myself for my foresight. The Vulcans will be unlikely to detain or attack my convoy to Andor with the Admiral's daughter aboard. Clearly Sovak would not be beyond detaining me for 'strategic purposes.'

I would rather not be a hostage, or worse: the Ambassador whose lack of cunning failed to prevent all out war.

The orchestra strikes up the Martian Waltz, and I turn to Amanda. "Would you do me the favor of this dance, Miss Greyson?"

I lead her onto the dance floor and we join the grand pattern with the other diplomats.

"I am aware you are intentionally baiting Sarek." Amanda says with a soft smile that doesn't extend to her eyes.

"Of course." I smile back as she places her hand in mine. "You did not believe me when I said Vulcan jealousy was not a pretty sight. I cannot help but respond to such a challenge."

We begin to whirl in an elegant promenade to the music.

"Please, Ambassador Shras. Don't try to embarrass Sarek."

I lean my head back and laugh. "Accusing him of even being capable of embarrassment would be an embarrassment you know. Ah, Vulcans…" I sigh, admiring the very attractive human girl in my arms. "They are all mad. Any sane male would rush over and take you from me."

"Ah, so now Ambassador Sarek is insane?"

"No, he is the only sane one of all, if he has chosen you, my dear."

It is her turn to laugh and I think the return trip to Andor is turning out to be quite entertaining after all.

"Well," I say, pulling her closer to me. "Let me finish my project of making him jealous, and then I will deposit you somewhere nearby."

I may enjoy taunting Vulcans, but I have no interest in being harmed by one. But if Sarek does break, I could certainly use that to my advantage diplomatically. On the other hand, I do not particularly enjoy physical injuries.

"You realize I am desperate to be with him."

I lead her into a twirl which she executes with grace and ease. Clearly she is a well cultivated female.

"I can sense it." I smile. Her energy reaches for him like a breeze. "But you are wise to downplay that relationship for your own safety. To accomplish our ultimate objective and repatriate Surak's artifacts, we do not yet know what paths you may need to pursue."

"The less said, the better you mean."

"Not said, but demonstrated."

She looks down and there are sudden tears in her eyes. "I was hoping to speak with him. We didn't part on the best of terms."

I stare at her for a long moment before breaking into laughter. "Oh, Miss Greyson. The very thought of a Vulcan having a lovers' quarrel!" I gasp, catching my breath as our dancing comes to a standstill. "You are doing much more to torment your Vulcan than I. I'm starting to like poor Ambassador Sarek very much."

As I planned, our dance has circled us back before the Vulcan delegation.

"Ambassador Sovak, may I beg a favor of you. Could your assistant" I wave a hand at Sarek, and Sarek's eyes narrow in annoyance at my characterization of his position, "brief Miss Greyson on the Surak Collection? She is not well informed on the subject that brings our peoples to the very brink of conflict."

Sovak turns to Sarek and gives him a curt nod.

Sarek gestures with his hand. "There is a terrace, Ambassador Shras, nearby—"

"Oh, no. No, I am not her chaperone. Go. Amanda, I will meet up with you shortly." I manage to keep a straight face at all the awkwardness I've created. "Go with…er?"

"Sarek. I am Vulcan's Junior Ambassador to Earth." He says it flatly, but still manages to convey his insult at my pretense of forgetting his name.

"Forgive me. _Ambassador_ Sarek." Oh, Vulcans. They just make it so easy to torment them. I put my hand on Amanda's face, knowing that I'm risking getting my arm broken. "Fifteen minutes. Return to our quarters. Don't be late." Oh, to touch and give commands to a Vulcan's intended; to imply that I am in a _personal _hurry for her return. I can see the muscles in Sarek's jaw straining.

I am actually starting to worry for her when, a good hour later, she finally she returns to our hotel room. Her hair is disordered and the ribbon has gone missing; she is more than a little bedraggled.

"I will ensure your dress is repaired." She marches, head high and a hand to her neck, past me toward her room in the suite. Elell stands and hands the baby to me, and rushes after Amanda. I, too, follow after a moment, and peek in on the two fussing in our suite's restroom.

Amanda is studying herself in the mirror and sighing.

"Do you have any makeup I can apply, Amanda?" Elell says gently. "Mine is the wrong color unless you want to make that bruise look even worse."

I can see that her normally pinkish skin has developed an area of almost Andorian blue near the base of her neck. Ah. I have heard Vulcans…mark their mates. Perhaps that is the reason for all those high necked formal robes they wear. I would chuckle at the thought, but for the young woman's ruffled dignity.

The formal hairdo has completely unraveled. Amanda pushes her hair away from her face. "I'm so sorry, Madame Elell. I...I'm afraid I…lost your ribbon."

Elell gives me a guilty look and begins to gently brush the young woman's hair, humming soothingly as she does so. "Not to worry…"

"I would guess it was sacrificed to your art advisor."

Miss Greyson stares at me, realizing we'd known the meaning of the ribbon and had taunted Sarek with it.

"I see." She frowns, but quickly hides her displeasure. Her lips are swollen almost to the point of bruising. "He…wouldn't give it back."

I start to feel truly guilty. I did not intend for Miss Greyson to be harmed by the Vulcan's jealousy.

Elell's antenni arch delicately forward in her concern for the young human. My wife's nostril's flare; she turns and gives me a meaningful glance. Yes, I too smell the sandalwood-like odor of k'shush on the girl; the scent of a rare and prized Vulcan incense. Sarek must be one very affluent Vulcan to have burned enough to scent him so.

"Do you need medical care, Amanda? Are you harmed?"

"I'll…be fine, Ambassador." She says roughly.

Elell shoos me out of the room. "Woman time."

Amanda bends toward the mirror, examining her neck again and sighing. "We still…haven't talked…"

"_Go._" Elell shuts the door on me.


	17. Ch 17 Ships Passing

Ships Passing

Sarek's POV

In retrospect, it was logical that Shras would lay over on Coridan on his return to Andor: the critical nature of the Senate hearings there, the negotiations over the dilithium allocation tables.

But to see you there, unexpectedly…on the arm of another male. Touching you. Dancing with you. Laughing together. I had thought I had suffered under plak tow…but this, too, was an excruciating kind of torture.

I have never struggled so greatly to maintain my logic, my control.

Amanda you were so…beautiful, your shoulders and neck uncovered, fair and unmarked, the dress that covered you below your naked shoulders glowing in the rich colors of San Francisco's winter dusk sky. Someone had coiffed your hair in the u'ta'avh, even with the proper style of ribbon from Shi Kahr: the style of an unmarried female, an available female.

Shras unwisely led Amanda back to me, abandoned her to my attention.

In the dark doorway between the hallway and the terrace outside I turned and pressed you to the wall and tore the disturbing ribbon from your hair. I silenced your protest with my mouth, in the human way of passion and your hunger quickly matched mine. I lifted you, pressing your body to the wall with mine—

It was simple possessiveness that drove me. You met me in passion; you catapulted us both to ecstasy with your human joy: sweet, sweet entanglement…

To hold you, to touch you, to make you mine: I would not lose you to another. I marked you. I _marked _you in the primitive way of my ancestors, letting my teeth sink into the soft exposed flesh of your neck.

In response you slapped me, and not delicately. Perhaps in the way of your own ancestors.

"Give me the ribbon."

"No. You are _mine."_

"I am no one's possession." You hissed, your breath coming in gulps.

I struggled to clear my mind. "Amanda…I am also _yours."_

You pushed your hair away from your face and looked away from me. "You…waited for me."

"I would again." I whispered, breathing in the very scent of you.

I was dismayed that someone had told you the terrible truth of my last cycle. I would never have burdened you with the knowledge of how I had suffered from plak tow.

You searched my face, and then closed your eyes and slid your palms against mine. Our fingers entwined, and then you pressed your lips to mine.

"You won't need to." You whispered between breaths.

And then we were once again lost again in each other.


End file.
